
B^^^^fflgSig^g^ 



pCLECTIC -:2_ 



'■O^ 



!^!SESSQZ^ 



/A-:<''CA.yvv ,s*A^>w r^\-■<>>>^ 



?:^V!^^:^^^.^>-:^3j^>:^^l^i;;-^ 



TALES OF A TRAVELER 





WASHINGTON IRVING 




N^w'^rk • Cincinnati • ChicagjO- 

Amkrican-Book- Company- 



r ^a«"«a ai % < ii ' ^WAaa&BJ&wuwA>»kWA^^^'i^%8 aaB^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Qlpiut..... GnpijngTjl fa. 
Shelf .aAI 



a3 + 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





A-i^ ^r 




ECLECTIC ENGLISH CLASSICS 
f 



TALES OF A TRAVELER 



' BY V 

WASHINGTON IRVING 



i ^7^'"^^^ 



/ 



NEW YORK • : . CINCINNATI • : . CHICAGO 

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY 
1894 



(y^ 



.0^^ 






Copyright, 1865, by 
George P. Putnam. 

Copyright, 1894, by 
American Book Company. 



Published by permission of Messrs. G. P. Putnam's Sons, 

publishers of the complete and authorized 

editions of Irving's works. 



|^r{nte^ b? 

TIQlilUam Hvieon 

•ftew lioxk, XX. S. H. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Washington Irving was born in New York City on April 3^ 
1783. He was the youngest son of William Irving, a Scotchman 
of excellent family, and Sarah Irving, a charming woman of Eng- 
lish descent. As a lad, Washington was noted for his fun-loving 
spirit, which developed later into that rich vein of humor which 
has become the admiration of the world. He entered school at 
the early age of four, and his school education extended to his 
sixteenth year. He was never an ambitious student, but he was 
a voracious reader, and drew from his father's well-stocked library 
the material for his literary training. At the age of eleven, books 
of travel became his delight, and he read and re-read " Robinson 
Crusoe," '' Sindbad the Sailor," and others of a like character. 
They awoke in him that great passion for traveling to which we 
owe much that is best in his works. 

At the age of sixteen he entered a law office, but he was a 
careless student, and never acquired a taste for the profession. 
He relieved the monotony of his work by continual reading, and 
by rambles in and about New York. In 1800 he made a mem- 
orable voyage up the Hudson, where he gathered man);' impres- 
sions which he later gave to the world in his ** Sketch Book." 
About this time, in 1802, he made his first literary venture by 
contributing to the *' Morning Chronicle " (a paper edited by his 
brother Peter) a series of sketches signed "Jonathan Oldstyle." 

5 



6 IXTRODUCTIOX. 

In 1804, at the instance of his brothers, he sailed for Europe. 
He traveled through France, Italy, Switzerland, Holland, and 
England, gathering a rich store of experiences and materials for 
future use. On his return to New York in 1806, with restored 
health, he resumed his study of law and was admitted to the bar ; 
but he still showed httle liking for his profession. In 1807 he 
was associated with his brother William and with James K. Pauld- 
ing in the pubhcation of a humorous and satirical serial, " Sal- 
magundi," somewhat on the style of the "Spectator." In 1808 
the " Knickerbocker History of New York " was begun by Peter 
and Washington Irvang, as a burlesque on a handbook of New 
York City, which had just been published. Peter, however, was 
obliged to sail for Europe, and Washington finished and expanded 
the work into a different conception. It was published in 1809, 
and established the author's fame. 

In 1810 he became a silent partner in a commercial house 
established by his brothers in New York and Liverpool. At the 
same time he was connected with the "Analectic Magazine" of 
Philadelphia, to which he contributed a number of sketches. 
In 181 5 he sailed for England. Just about this time, financial 
troubles began to threaten the house, and his brother Peter being 
ill, much business of a commercial nature devolved upon Wash- 
ington. This was peculiarly irksome to him, but he reheved the 
tedium by traveling, by intercourse with his many literary friends, 
among whom were Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Moore, and by 
a careful observation of English life. 

In 1 818 the house became bankrupt, and Irving was obliged 
to seek some means of support. Nevertheless, a clerkship in the 
United States Navy Department, as well as an editorship offered 
him by Scott, were refused. He began to feel confidence in his 



IXTRODUCTION. 7 

own literary powers, and cast himself upon the fortune of his 
pen. The "Sketch Book," published in New York in 1818 and 
in England in 1820, met with unqualified success. The charm 
of its beauty and freshness received universal recognition. This 
was followed by " Bracebridge HaU " in 1822, and "Tales of a 
Traveler " in 1824. 

In 1826 Irving went to Spain, for the purpose of making a 
translation of some important Spanish documents relating to the 
life of Columbus ; but he became so imbued with the subject that 
he abandoned the project, and produced instead his own " His- 
tory of the Life and Voyages of Columbus," a masterpiece, pub- 
lished in 1828. His travels through Spain, which were prolonged 
till 1829, resulted in some of the best work his pen has produced, 
— "The Conquest of Granada" (1829), "The Companions of 
Columbus " (1831), " Legends of the Conquest of Spain " (1835), 
and that most beautiful series of sketches, " The Alhambra " 

(1832). 

In 1829 Irving returned to London as Secretary of Legation 
in England. In 1831 the University of Oxford conferred on him 
the degree of LL.D. 

In 1832, after an absence of seventeen years, he returned to 
New York, where he was received with the utmost enthusiasm. 
An extended toiu: through the West resulted in the publication 
of a number of sketches which comprise part of " The Crayon 
Miscellany." Having bought Sunnyside on the Hudson, near 
Tarr)'town, he began to fit it up to suit his own taste. In 1836 
appeared "Astoria," and in 1837, "The Adventures of Captain 
Bonneville." From 1839 to 1841 he wrote for the " Knicker- 
bocker Magazine " a series of essays, which were later collected 
and published under the title of " Wolfert's Roost." In 1846 



8 IXTRODUCTIOX. 

In-ing reluctantly left home as Minister to Spain, which post he 
occupied for four years. 

In 1848 Mr. George Putnam undertook the republication of 
Innng's works, their sale ha\nng died out. An edition of fifteen 
volumes, completed in 1850, met with an unprecedented success, 
the sale reaching 250,000 volumes. 

The last years of Ir\-ing's life were spent on biographical 
sketches, — "The Life of Goldsmith" (1849), "The Life of 
Mahomet and his Successors" (1849), and his last and most 
extensive work, " The Life of Washington," in five volumes 
(1855—59), completed three months before his death. Irving 
died on Xov. 28, 1859, in his home at Sunnyside, surrounded by 
lo\nng nephews and nieces. 

As a fitting close to this notice of his hfe, we reproduce here 
a beautiful picture of In-ing, given us by Bryant in his " Me- 
morial Address " : 

" That amiable character which makes itself so manifest in the 
writings of Irving was seen in all his daily actions. He was ever 
ready to do kind offices, tender of the feehngs of others, care- 
fully just, but ever leaning to the merciful side of justice, averse 
from strife, and so modest that the world never ceased to wonder 
how it should have happened that one so much praised should 
have gained so little assurance. He envied no man's success, 
he sought to detract from no man's merits, but he was acutely 
sensitive both to praise and to blame. He thought so little of 
himself that he could never comprehend why it was that he 
should be the object of curiosity or reverence." 

With Irving began the literary activity of our country. Such 
works as were produced before his time were mere imitations of 
British models ; our hterar)- independence was yet to be declared. 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

But Irving's originality was so marked as to gain him instant 
recognition on both sides of the Atlantic. Others followed thick 
and fast in his footsteps, representatives of every department of 
literature, — Cooper, Emerson, Lowell, Bryant, Hawthorne, Long- 
fellow, Whittier, Holmes, — and soon our literary reputation was 
established. 

When we stop to inquire what it was in Irving's works which 
thus took the world by storm, we find that it was his own person- 
ality infused into his writings. Simplicity, grace, sentiment, and 
humor in his lighter writings ; truth, earnestness, sympathy, and 
unbiased judgment in his graver works, — ^ these were the qualities 
which gained for Irving his position in the world of letters, and 
which endeared him to all with whom he came in contact. No 
subject was too light or trivial to be transmuted by his genius 
into a matter of absorbing interest, or to acquire through his pen 
a new and unsuspected charm. 

The " Tales of a Traveler " are in one sense especially charac- 
teristic of Irving, as he was essentially a traveler. They are frag- 
ments picked up from here, there, and everywhere, molded into a 
perfect whole by the art of a genius. The characters are wonder- 
fully true to life, and, considering their wide range and diversity, 
we cannot but marvel at the author's keen insight and penetra- 
tion. He himself considered these tales as by far the best work 
he had undertaken, an opinion which is apt to surprise us if 
we judge from the plots alone, for they certainly lack the fresh- 
ness and originality of those in the " Sketch Book." But these 
plots were undoubtedly written to meet what the author felt to 
be a popular demand. In " Buckthorne " the aspiring author is 
told that " poetry is a mere drug ; tales of pirates, robbers, and 



1 o INTROD UCTIOX. 

bloody Turks might answer tolerably well, but then they must 
come from some established, well-known name, or the public 
would not look at them." Irving was the more willing to accede 
to this demand because he considered the plot as of minor im- 
portance. " For my part," he says, " I consider a story merely 
as a frame on which to stretch my materials. It is the play of 
thought and sentiment and language ; the weaving in of charac- 
ters, lightly yet expressly delineated ; the familiar and faithful 
exhibition of scenes in common life ; and the half -concealed vein 
of humor that is often playing through the whole, — these are 
among what I am at, and upon which I felicitate myself in pro- 
portion as I think I succeed." 

Viewed in this light, these tales will not be found wanting, for 
the faithful delineation of the characters, the easy, flowing style, 
the beautiful descriptions of scenery, and the rare touches of 
humor and pathos, are equal to anything the author has pro- 
duced. The stories are divided into four parts, each of which 
represents a distinct type of plot. Each part is composed of a 
number of stories, distinct in themselves, but having a connecting 
link which binds them together somewhat on the plan of the 
"Arabian Nights' Entertainment." 

Part I., or " Strange Stories by a Nervous Gentleman," com- 
prises tales of a ghostly character. The connecting link in this 
part is " The Hunting Dinner." The guests at this dinner, de- 
tained over night by the inclemency of the weather, tax the 
accommodations of the house to the utmost, so that every odd 
comer is put into service. This suggests the haunted chamber, 
and leads to the narration of a number of queer and ghostly 
stories by the guests assembled round the fireside. On retiring 
to their respective apartments, one of them meets with an unenvi- 



IiVTR on UC TION. 1 1 

able experience with a picture. This calls for explanations from 
the host, and furnishes the material for the remaining stories. 

Irving does not spoil his tales by attempting to directly explain 
away the mystery which envelops them ; but there is in each 
some element which might escape the careless reader, but which 
is in itself the full explanation. Thus, in one case, the hero, 
having eaten heavily, retires to rest with a mind excited by the 
stories he has heard. The strange dance of the furniture is 
accounted for by the fact that the bold dragoon "was apt to 
make blunders in his travels about inns at night, which it would 
have puzzled him sadly to account for in the morning." 

In the story of " The German Student," who went mad as the 
result of his horrible experience, our doubts are set at rest by 
the inquisitive gentleman, " who never seemed satisfied with the 
whole of a story ; never laughed when others laughed, but always 
put the joke to the question ; never could enjoy the kernel of the 
nut, but pestered himself to get more out of the shell." " 'And 
is this really a fact ? ' said the inquisitive gentleman. ' A fact 
not to be doubted,' replied the other. ' I had it from the best 
authority. The student told it me himself. I saw him in a 
madhouse in Paris.' " 

In Part IL, " Buckthorne and his Friends," Irving introduces 
us to literary life as he had observed it in London. ** Buck- 
thorne " was written as a part of " Bracebridge Hall," but Irv- 
ing's friends advised him to retain it as the groundwork of a 
novel, and to supply something else in its place. This he did ; 
but later he abandoned the project of a novel, and published the 
tale as at first conceived, with a few additional passages intro- 
duced into Buckthorne's hfe. The " Literary Dinner," curious 
as it is, had a personal foundation. " He has given the descrip- 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

tion of the booksellers' dinner," says Thomas Moore, " so exactly 
like what I told him of one of the Longmans' (the carving part- 
ner, the partner to laugh at the popular author's jokes, the twelve- 
edition writers treated to claret, etc.), that I very much fear my 
friends in Paternoster Row will know themselves in the picture." 
Subsequently Moore gave the author an opportunity to improve 
the picture by personal observation. The encounter of the poor- 
devil author with the man in green is one of the most humorous 
incidents in the book ; and the strolling manager who was to be 
brought out as a theatrical wonder, with his cracked voice as the 
chief attraction, and all other faults attributed to the irregularities 
of genius, enlists our sympathy to such an extent that we grie\-e 
with him at the downfall of his hopes. 

Part III. comprises "The Itahan Banditti." The tales are 
developed on the same plan as those in Part I. The travelers, 
detained over night at an inn in a region alive with the rumors 
of highway robberies, pass their time by relating incidents of 
robberies that have come within their experience. On resum- 
ing their journey, they themselves have an encounter, with which 
these stories end. Here we find some splendid character por- 
traits, — the little antiquary, with his anxiety about his treatise on 
the Pelasgian cities ; the pompous English alderman ; the self- 
conscious robber chieftain who has missed his vocation of philan- 
thropy ; the phlegmatic Englishman ; and the indignant landlord 
who, baffled in his attempt to relate the adventure of the Popkins 
family, retires from the room exclaiming, " Popkin — Popkin — 
Popkin — pop — pop — pop." 

Part IV., "The Money Diggers," comprises legends of pirates 
and the searches after their buried wealth. Like " Rip Van 
Winkle" and "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," these tales have 



INTROD UCTION. 1 3 

our own country for background, and its beauties gain an added 
charm through the deHcate touches of Irving's pen. The stories, 
hke others in the book, are commonplace enough ; but while idly- 
following the fortunes of Wolfert Webber, we pick up by the 
way such gems as the following : " In the mean time, the seasons 
gradually rolled on. The little frogs which had piped in the 
meadows in early spring, croaked as bullfrogs during the sum- 
mer heats, and then sank into silence. The peach tree budded, 
blossomed, and bore its fruit. The swallows and martins came, 
twitted about the roof, built their nests, reared their young, held 
their congress along the eaves, and then winged their flight in 
search of another spring. The caterpillar spun its winding sheet, 
dangled in it from the great buttonwood tree before the house, 
turned into a moth, fluttered with the last sunshine of summer, 
and disappeared ; and finally the leaves of the buttonwood tree 
turned yellow, then brown, then rustled one by one to the ground, 
and whirling about in little eddies of wind and dust, whispered 
that winter was at hand." 

There was a time, no doubt, in the history of our country, 
when the reading of tales like these, with promises of sudden 
wealth, was fraught with a certain danger ; but now we can con- 
fidently place them in the hands of our children and let them 
dream awhile, if they will, secure in the thought that, as they 
grow older and breathe the practical atmosphere which to-day 
pervades everything, they will realize that the only treasures still 
buried are such as earnest work and study alone can unearth, 
and that the signposts of these hidden treasures direct to the 
paths of truth and virtue and industry. 



CONTENTS. 

PART I. 
STRANGE STORIES BY A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 

PAGE 

The Great Unknown 22 

The Hunting Dinner 24 

The Adventure of my Uncle 29 

The Adventure of my Aunt ....... 44 

The Bold Dragoon; or, The Adventure of my Grandfather . 49 

Adventure of the German Student 59 

Adventure of the Mysterious Picture ..... 66 

Adventure of the Mysterious Stranger .... 75 

The Story of the Young Italian ...... 84 

PART II. 
BUCKTHORXE AND HIS FRIENDS. 



Literary Life . . . . . . . . . .115 

A Literary Dinner 118 

The Club of Queer Fellows . . . . . . .122 

The Poor-devil Author .128 

Notoriety ........... 152 

A Practical Philosopher . . . . . . . -154 

BUCKTHORNE, OR THE YoUNG MaN OF GREAT EXPECTATIONS . 1 57 

Grave Reflections of a Disappointed Man . . . .216 

The Booby Squire 222 

The Strolling Manager 227 

T " 



i6 CONTENTS. 

PART III. 
THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 

PAGE 

The Inn at Terracina ........ 247 

Adventure of the Little x\ntiquary 260 

The Belated Travelers 270 

Adventure of the Popkins Family ...... 286 

The Painter's Adventure 292 

The Story of the Bandit Chieftain . » . . . . 301 

The Story of the Young Robber 314 

The Adventure of the Englishman ...... 325 

PART IV. 

THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

Hell Gate 335 

Kidd the Pirate 339 

The Devil and Tom Walker 346 

Wolfert Webber, or Golden Dreams 361 

Adventure of the Black Fisherman 386 



PART I 



STRANGE STORIES 

BY 

A NERVOUS GENTLEMAN. 



I'll tell you more : there was a fish taken, 

A monstrous fish, with a sword by 's side, a long sword, 

A pike in 's neck, and a gun in 's nose, a huge gun, 

And letters of mart in 's mouth from the Duke of Florence. 

Cleanthes. This is a monstrous lie. 

To7ty. I do confess it. 

Do you think I'd tell you truths? 

Fletcher's Wife for a Month. 



17 



TO THE READER. 

WORTHY AND Dear Reader f— Hast thou ever been way- 
laid in the midst of a pleasant tour by some treacherous 
malady ? thy heels tripped up, and thou left to count the tedious 
minutes as they passed, in the solitude of an inn chamber ? If 
thou hast, thou wilt be able to pity me. Behold me, interrupted 
in the course of my journeying up the fair banks of the Rhine, 
and laid up by indisposition in this old frontier town of Mentz.^ 
I have worn out every source of amusement. I know the sound 
of every clock that strikes, and bell that rings, in the place. I 
know to a second when to listen for the first tap of the Prussian 
drum, as it summons the garrison to parade, or at what hour to 
expect the distant sound of the Austrian military band. All these 
have grown wearisome to me ; and even the well-known step of 
my doctor, as he slowly paces the corridor, with healing in the 
creak of his shoes, no longer affords an agreeable interruption to 
the monotony of my apartment. 

For a time I attempted to beguile the weary hours by study- 
ing German under the tuition of mine host's pretty little daugh- 
ter, Katrine ; but I soon found even German had not power to 
charm a languid ear, and that the conjugating of ich liebe"^ might 
be powerless, however rosy the lips which uttered it. 

I tried to read, but my mind would not fix itself. I turned 
over volume after volume, but threw them by with distaste. 
" Well, then," said I at length, in despair, " if I cannot read a 
book, I will write one." Never was there a more lucky idea ; it 

1 A city of Germany, the capital of Rhenish Hesse, situated on the left 
bank of the Rhine. It is a fortress, and has a garrison of eight hundred men. 

2 German for " I love." 

19 



20 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

at once gave me occupation and amusement. The writing of a 
book was considered in old times as an enterprise of toil and 
difficulty, insomuch that the most trifling lucubration was de- 
nominated a " work," and the worid talked with awe and rever- 
ence of " the labors of the learned." These matters are better 
understood nowadays. 

Thanks to the improvements in all kinds of manufactures, the 
art of bookmaking has been made familiar to the meanest capac- 
ity. Everybody is an author. The scribbling of a quarto is the 
mere pastime of the idle ; the young gentleman throws off his 
brace of duodecimos in the intervals of the sporting season, and 
the young lady produces her set of volumes with the same facil- 
ity that her great- grandmother worked a set of chair bottoms. 

The idea having struck me, therefore, to write a book, the 
reader will easily perceive that the execution of it was no diffi- 
cult matter. I rummaged my portfolio, and cast about in my 
recollection for those floating materials which a man naturally 
collects in traveling ; and here I have arranged them in this little 
work. 

As I know this to be a story-telhng and a story-reading age, 
and that the world is fond of being taught by apologue, I have 
digested ^ the instruction I would convey into a number of tales. 
They may not possess the power of amusement which the tales 
told by many of my contemporaries possess ; but then I value 
myself on the sound moral which each of them contains. This 
may not be apparent at first, but the reader will be sure to find 
it out in the end. I am for 2 curing the world by gentle altera- 
tives, not by violent doses ; indeed, the patient should never be 
conscious that he is taking a dose. I have learnt this much 
from experience under the hands of the worthy Hippocrates ^ of 
Mentz. 

I am not, therefore, for those barefaced tales which carry their 

1 Distributed. 2 " I am for," i.e., I am in favor of. 

3 A Greek physician (468-367 B.C.), called the " Father of Medicine; " 
hence, the doctor. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 2i 

moral on the surface, staring one in the face ; they are enough 
to deter the squeamish reader. On the contrary, I have often 
hid my moral from sight, and disguised it as much as possible by 
sweets and spices, so that while the simple reader is listening 
with open mouth to a ghost or a love story, he may have a 
bolus ^ of sound morality popped down his throat, and be never 
the wiser for the fraud. 

As the public is apt to be curious about the sources whence 
an author draws his stories, doubtless that it may know how far 
to put faith in them, I would observe that the "Adventure of the 
German Student," or rather the latter part of it, is founded on an 
anecdote related to me as existing somewhere in French ; and, 
indeed, I have been told, since writing it, that an ingenious tale 
has been founded on it by an English writer ; but I have never 
met with either the former or the latter in print. Some of the 
circumstances in the " Adventure of the Mysterious Picture," and 
in " The Story of the Young Italian," are vague recollections af 
anecdotes related to me some years since ; but from what source 
derived, I do not know. The adventure of the young painter 
among the banditti is taken almost entirely from an authentic 
narrative in manuscript. 

As to the other tales contained in this work, and indeed to 
my tales generally, I can make but one observation : I am an 
old traveler, I have read somewhat, heard and seen more, and 
dreamt more than all. My brain is filled, therefore, with all 
kinds of odds and ends. In traveling, these heterogeneous mat- 
ters have become shaken up in my mind, as the articles are apt 
to be in an ill-packed traveling trunk ; so that when I attempt to 
draw forth a fact, I cannot determine whether I have read, heard, 
or dreamt it ; and I am always at a loss to know how much to 
beheve of my own stories. 

These matters being premised, fall to,2 worthy reader, with 
good appetite, and, above all, with good humor, to what is here 
set before thee. If the tales I have furnished should prove to 

1 A large pill. 2 " p^ll to," i.e., begin. 



2 2 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

be bad, they will at least be found short ; so that no one will be 
wearied long on the same theme. " Variety is charming," as 
some poet observes. 

There is a certain relief in change, even though it be from bad 
to worse ! As I have often found in travehng in a stagecoach, 
that it is often a comfort to shift one's position, and be bruised 
in a new place. 

Ever thine, 

Geoffrey Crayon. ^ 
Dated from the Hotel de Darmstadt, 
ci-divani' HoTEL DE Paris, 
Mentz, otherwise called Mayence. 



THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 

THE following adventures were related to me by the same 
nerv^^ous gentleman who told me the romantic tale of " The 
Stout Gentleman," "^ published in " Bracebridge Hall." It is very 
singular that, although I expressly stated that story to have been 
told to me, and described the very person who told it, still it has 
been received as an adventure that happened to myself. Now 
I protest I never met wath any adventure of the kind. I should 
not have grieved at this, had it not been intimated by the author 
of " Waverley," in an introduction to his novel of '' Peveril of 
the Peak," that he was himself the stout gentleman alluded to. 
I have ever since been importuned by questions and letters from 

1 Washington Irving's pen name. 2 Formerly. 

3 The Stout Gentleman is the name of one of Irving's most humorous 
sketches. The nervous gentleman above referred to amuses himself on a 
rainy Sunday in a country inn by conjectures as to the personality and char- 
acter of an unknown " stout gentleman," who remains during the day shut 
up in a room in the inn. After greatly arousing the curiosity of the reader, 
the nervous gentleman manages just to get a glimpse of the rear of a perst)n 
getting into a stagecoach, which was all he ever saw of the stout gentleman. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 23 

gentlemen, and particularly from ladies without number, touch- 
ing what I had seen of the "Great Unknown." ^ 

Now all this is extremely tantahzing. It is like being con- 
gratulated on the high prize when one has drawn a blank; 2 for 
I have just as great a desire as any one of the public to pene- 
trate the mystery of that very singular personage, whose voice 
fills every corner of the world, without any one being able to 
tell whence it comes. 

My friend the nervous gentleman, also, who is a man of very 
shy, retired habits, complains that he has been excessively annoyed 
in consequence of its getting about in his neighborhood that he 
is the fortunate personage ; insomuch, that he has become a char- 
acter of considerable notoriety in two or three country towns, and 
has been repeatedly teased to exhibit himself at bluestocking ^ 
parties, for no other reason than that of being " the gentleman 
who has had a glimpse of the author of ' Waverley.' " 

Indeed, the poor man has grown ten times as nervous as ever 
since he has discovered, on such good authority, who the stout 
gentleman was ; and will never forgive himself for not having 
made a more resolute effort to get a full sight of him. He has 
anxiously endeavored to call up a recollection of what he saw 
of that portly personage ; and has ever since kept a curious eye 
on all gentlemen of more than ordinary dimensions, whom he has 
seen getting into stagecoaches. All in vain ! The features he 
had caught a glimpse of seem common to the whole race of stout 
gentlemen, and the " Great Unknown " remains as great an un- 
known as ever. 

1 Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), Scottish novelist and poet, author of the 
Waverley Novels. Some of Scott's novels were published anonymously, and 
their author was called the " Great Unknown." 

2 A ticket in a lottery, on which no prize is indicated. 

3 A term applied to literary ladies. The name is derived from Mr. Still- 
ingfleet, who was an indispensable attendant at certain meetings held in the 
eighteenth century by English ladies, for conversation with literary men, and 
who always wore blue stockings. Hence the names " bluestocking clubs " 
and " bluestockings." 



24 WASHIXGTOX IRVING. 

Having premised these circumstances, I will now let the nerv- 
ous gentleman proceed with his stories. 



THE HUNTING DINNER. 

I WAS once at a hunting dinner, given by a worthy fox-hunt- 
ing old Baronet, who kept bachelor's hall in jovial style in 
an ancient, rook-haunted family mansion, in one of the middle 
counties. He had been a devoted admirer of the fair sex in his 
younger days ; but, having traveled much, studied the sex in 
various countries with distinguished success, and returned home 
profoundly instructed, as he supposed, in the ways of woman, and 
a perfect master of the art of pleasing, he had the mortification 
of being jilted by a little boarding-school girl, who was scarcely 
versed in the accidence ^ of love. 

The Baronet was completely overcome by such an incredible 
defeat ; retired from the world in disgust ; put himself under the 
government of his housekeeper ; and took to fox hunting like 
a perfect Nimrod.^ Whatever poets may say to the contrary, a 
man will grow out of love as he grows old ; and a pack of fox 
hounds may chase out of his heart even the memory of a board- 
ing-school goddess. The Baronet was, when I saw him, as merry 
and mellow an old bachelor as ever followed a hound ; and the 
love he had once felt for one woman had spread itself over the 
whole sex, so that there was not a pretty face in the whole coun- 
try round but came in for a share. 

The dinner was prolonged till a late hour ; for our host hav- 
ing no ladies in his household to summon us to the drawing- 
room, the bottle maintained its true bachelor sway, unrivaled by 
its potent enemy, the teakettle. The old hall in which we dined 

1 Conjugation. 

2 " A mighty hunter before tlie Lord " (see Gen. x. 8-12). The traditional 
notion of his character connects with it ideas of violence and insolence. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 25 

echoed to bursts of robustious ^ fox-hunting merriment, that made 
the ancient antlers shake on the walls. By degrees, however, the 
wine and the wassail of mine host began to operate upon bodies, 
already a little jaded by the chase. The choice spirits which 
flashed up at the beginning of the dinner sparkled for a time, 
then gradually went out one after another, or only emitted now 
and then a faint gleam from the socket. Some of the briskest 
talkers, who had given tongue so bravely at the first burst,^ fell 
fast asleep ; and none kept on their way but certain of those 
long-winded prosers, who, like short-legged hounds, worry on 
unnoticed at the bottom ^ of conversation, but are sure to be in 
at the death.4 Even these at length subsided into silence ; and 
scarcely anything was heard but the nasal communications of 
two or three veteran masticators, who, having been silent while 
awake, were indemnifying the company in their sleep. 

At length the announcement of tea and coffee in the cedar 
parlor roused all hands from this temporary torpor. Every one 
awoke marvelously renovated, and while sipping the refreshing 
beverage out of the Baronet's old-fashioned hereditary china, 
began to think of departing for their several homes. But here a 
sudden difficulty arose. While we had been prolonging our re- 
past, a heavy winter storm had set in, with snow, rain, and sleet, 
driven by such bitter blasts of wind that they threatened to pene- 
trate to the very bone. 

''It's all in vain," said our hospitable host, "to think of put- 
ting one's head out of doors in such weather. So, gentlemen, I 
hold you my guests for this night at least, and will have your 
quarters prepared accordingly." 

The unruly weather, which became more and more tempestu- 

1 Hearty. 

2 " Had given tongue," etc., i.e., had talked so well in the beginning. 

3 Beginning. 

* " In at the death," a term used in fox hunting, meaning to come up with 
the game before it has been killed by the hounds ; hence, to be present at the 
end of anything. 



26 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

ous, rendered the hospitable suggestion unanswerable. The only 
question was whether such an unexpected accession of company 
to an already crowded house would not put the housekeeper to 
her trumps ^ to accommodate them. 

" Pshaw ! " cried mine host ; " did you ever know a bachelor's 
hall that was not elastic, and able to accommodate twice as many 
as it could hold ? " 

So, out of a good-humored pique, the housekeeper was sum- 
moned to a consultation before us all. The old lady appeared 
in her gala suit of faded brocade, which rustled with flurry and 
agitation ; for, in spite of our host's bravado, she was a little per- 
plexed. But in a bachelor's house, and with bachelor guests, 
these matters are readily managed. There is no lady of the 
house to stand upon squeamish points about lodging gentlemen 
in odd holes and corners, and exposing the shabby parts of the 
establishment. A bachelor's housekeeper is used to shifts and 
emergencies ; so, after much worrying to and fro. and divers 
consultations about the red room, and the blue room, and the 
chintz room, and the damask room, and the little room with the 
bow window, the matter was finally arranged. 

When all this was done, we were once more summoned to the 
standing rural amusement of eating. The time that had been 
consumed in dozing after dinner, and in the refreshment and 
consultation of the cedar parlor, was sufficient, in the opinion of 
the rosy-faced butler, to engender a reasonable appetite for sup- 
per. A slight repast had therefore been tricked 2 up from the 
residue of dinner, consisting of a cold sirloin of beef, hashed 
venison, a deviled leg of a turkey or so, and a few other of 
those light articles taken by countiy gentlemen to insiure sound 
sleep and heavy snoring. 

The nap after dinner had brightened up every one's wit; and 
a great deal of excellent humor was expended upon the perplex- 
ities of mine host and his housekeeper, by certain married gen- 
tlemen of the company, who considered themselves privileged in 

1 " Put to her trumps," i.e., test all her ingenuity. - Served. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 27 

joking with a bachelor's estabHshment. From this the banter 
turned as to what quarters each would find, on being thus sud- 
denly billeted in so antiquated a mansion. 

"By my soul," said an Irish captain of dragoons, one of the 
most merry and boisterous of the party, "by my soul, but I 
should not be surprised if some of those good-looking gentle- 
folks that hang along the w^alls should walk about the rooms of 
this stormy night ; or if I should find the ghost of one of those 
long-waisted ladies turning into my bed in mistake for her grave 
in the chiu'chyard." 

" Do you beheve in ghosts, then ? " said a thin, hatchet-faced ^ 
gentleman, with projecting eyes like a lobster. 

I had remarked this last personage during dinner time for one 
of those incessant questioners, w^ho have a craving, unhealthy 
appetite in conversation. He never seemed satisfied with the 
whole of a story ; never laughed when others laughed ; but 
always put the joke to the question. He never could enjoy the 
kernel of the nut, but pestered himself to get more out of the 
shell. " Do you believe in ghosts, then ? " said the inquisitive 
gentleman. 

" Faith, but I do," replied the jovial Irishman. " I was 
brought up in the fear and behef of them. We had a Benshee 
in our own family, honey." 

"A Benshee — and what's that ? " cried the questioner. 

** Why, an old lady ghost that tends upon your real Milesian 2 
famihes, and waits at their window to let them know when some 
of them are to die." 

" A mighty pleasant piece of information ! " cried an elderly 
gentleman wath a knowing look, and with a flexible nose to which 
he could give a whimsical twist when he wished to be waggish. 

" By my soul, but I'd have you to know it's a piece of distinc- 
tion to be waited on by a Benshee. It's a proof that one has 
pure blood in one's veins. But i' faith, now we are talking of 

1 With a face like the edge of a hatchet ; hence, sharp-faced. 

2 Irish. 



2S WASHINGTON IRVING. 

ghosts, there never was a house or a night better fitted than the 
present for a ghost adventure. Pray, Sir John, haven't you such 
a thing as a haunted chamber to put a guest in ? " 

"Perhaps," said the Baronet, smiHng, "I might accommodate 
you even on that point." 

" Oh, I should Hke it of all things, my jewel.i Some dark 
oaken room, with ugly, woe-begone portraits, that stare dismally 
at one, and about which the housekeeper has a power of ^ delight- 
ful stories of love and murder. And then a dim lamp, a table 
wdth a rusty sword across it, and a specter all in white, to draw 
aside one's curtains at midnight" — 

" In truth," said an old gentleman at one end of the table, 
" you put me in mind of an anecdote " — 

" Oh, a ghost stor\' ! a ghost stor}- I " was vociferated round 
the board, every one edging his chair a httle nearer. 

The attention of the whole company was now turned upon 
the speaker. He was an old gentleman, one side of whose face 
was no match for the other. The eyelid drooped and hung 
down like an unhinged window shutter ; indeed, the whole side 
of his head was dilapidated, and seemed like the wing of a house 
shut up and haunted. I'll warrant that side was well stuffed with 
ghost stories. 

There was a universal demand for the tale. 

" Nay," said the old gentleman, " it's a mere anecdote, and a 
very commonplace one ; but such as it is you shall have it. It 
is a story that I once heard my uncle tell as having happened 
to himself. He was a man very apt to meet with strange adven- 
tures. I have heard him tell of others much more singular." 

" What kind of a man was your uncle ? " said the questioning 
gentleman. 

" Why, he was rather a dr}'', shrewd kind of body ; a great 
traveler, and fond of telling his adventures." 

" Pray, how old might he have been when that happened ? " 

1 A term of endearment. 

2 "A power of," i.e., a great number of. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 29 

" When what happened ? " cried the gentleman with the flexi- 
ble nose, impatiently. " Egad, you have not given anything a 
chance to happen. Come, never mind our uncle's age ; let us 
have his adventures." 

The inquisitive gentleman being for the moment silenced, the 
old gentleman with the haunted head proceeded. 



THE ADVENTURE OF MY UNCLE. 

MANY years since, some time before the French Revolution,^ 
my uncle passed several months at Paris. The English 
and French were on better terms in those days than at present, 
and mingled cordially in society. The Enghsh went abroad to 
spend money then, and the French were always ready to help 
them. They go abroad to save money at present, and that they 
can do without French assistance. Perhaps the traveling Eng- 
lish were fewer and choicer than at present, when the whole 
nation has broke 2 loose and inundated the continent. At any 
rate, they circulated more readily and currently in foreign society, 
and my uncle, during his residence in Paris, made many very in- 
timate acquaintances among the French noblesse.^ 

Some time afterwards, he was making a journey in the winter 
time in that part of Normandy called the Pays de Caux, when, 
as evening was closing in, he perceived the turrets of an ancient 
chateau rising out of the trees of its walled park ; each turret with 
its high, conical roof of gray slate, like a candle with an extin- 
guisher on it. 

1 The great French Revolution (1789-94), a tremendous upheaval of so- 
ciety, caused by the revolt of the people against the abuses of the higher classes, 
and the despotism of the king. It resulted in the establishment of a demo- 
cratic republic, followed by an empire resting on military power. 

2 Old form of " broken." 3 Persons of noble rank. 



30 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

" To whom does that chateau belong, friend ? " cried my micle 
to a meager but fiery postihon, who, with tremendous jack boots 
and cocked hat, was floundering on before him. 

"To Monseigneuri the Marquis de ," said the postihon, 

touching his hat, partly out of respect to my uncle, and partly out 
of reverence to the noble name pronounced. 

My uncle recollected the Marquis for a particular friend in 
Paris, who had often expressed a wish to see him at his paternal 
chateau. My uncle was an old traveler, one who knew well how 
to turn things to account. He revolved for a few moments in 
his mind how agreeable it would be to his friend the Marquis to 
be surprised in this sociable way by a pop ^ visit ; and how much 
more agreeable to himself to get into snug quarters in a chateau, 
and have a relish of the Marquis's well-known kitchen, and a 
smack of his superior champagne and Burgundy, rather than 
put up wuth the miserable lodgment and miserable fare of a pro- 
vincial inn. In a few minutes, therefore, the meager postihon 
was cracking his whip like a very devil, or like a true Frenchman, 
up the long, straight avenue that led to the chateau. 

You have no doubt all seen French chateaus, as everybody 
travels in France nowadays. This was one of the oldest, stand- 
ing naked and alone in the midst of a desert of gravel walks and 
cold stone terraces, with a cold-looking, formal garden, cut into 
angles and rhomboids, and a cold, leafless park, divided geomet- 
rically by straight alleys, and two or three cold-looking, nose- 
less statues ; and fountains spouting cold water enough to make 
one's teeth chatter. At least such was the feeHng they imparted 
on the wintry day of my uncle's visit ; though, in hot summer 
weather, I'll warrant there was glare enough to scorch one's eyes 
out. 

The smacking of the postilion's whip, which grew more and 
more intense the nearer they approached, frightened a flight of 
pigeons out of a dovecot, and rooks out of the roofs, and finally 
a crew of servants out of the chateau, with the Marquis at their 

I A French title of rank. 2 Unexpected. 



TALES OF A TRA VELER. 3 1 

head. He was enchanted to see my uncle, for his chateau, hke 
the house of our worthy host, had not many more guests at the 
time than it could accommodate. So he kissed my uncle on 
each cheek, after the French fashion, and ushered him into the 
castle. 

The Marquis did the honors of the house with the urbanity of 
his country. In fact, he was proud of his old family chateau, 
for part of it was extremely old. There was a tower and chapel 
which had been built almost before the memory of man ; but the 
rest was more modern, the castle having been nearly demolished 
during the wars of the league.^ The Marquis dwelt upon this 
event with great satisfaction, and seemed really to entertain a 
grateful feeling towards Henry IV. ^ for having thought his pa- 
ternal mansion worth battering down. He had many stories to 
tell of the prowess of his ancestors ; and several skullcaps, hel- 
mets, and crossbows, and divers huge boots and buff jerkins, to 
show, which had been worn by the leaguers. Above all, there 
was a two-handed sword, which he could hardly wield, but which 
he displayed as a proof that there had been giants in his family. 

In truth, he was but a small descendant from such gi-eat war- 
riors. When you looked at their bluff visages and brawny limbs, 
as depicted in their portraits, and then at the little Marquis, with 
his spindleshanks ^ and his sallow lantern visage,* flanked with 
a pair of powdered earlocks, or ailes de pigeon,^ that seemed 
ready to fly away with it, you could hardly believe him to be of 
the same race. But when you looked at the eyes that sparkled 
out like a beetle's from each side of his hooked nose, you saw at 
once that he inherited all the fiery spirit of his forefathers. In 

1 " Wars of the league," i.e., civil wars in France (1562-98), caused orig- 
inally by the enmity between the Catholics and the Huguenots, but develop- 
ing later into a purely political strife in which most of the nations of Europe 
took part. 

2 Henry IV. (1553-1610), King of France and Navarre, the first of the 
House of Bourbon. 

3 Slender legs. * " Lantern visage," i.e., long, thin face. 
5 Curls of hair near the ears ; literally, pigeon wings. 



32 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales, however his body may 
dwindle. It rather rarefies, and grows more irtflammable, as the 
earthly particles diminish ; and I have seen valor enough in a 
little fiery-hearted French dwarf to have furnished out a tolerable 
giant. 

When once the Marquis, as was his wont, put on one of the 
old helmets stuck up in his hall, though his head no more filled 
it than a dry pea its peascod, yet his eyes flashed from the bot- 
tom of the iron cavern with the brilliancy of carbuncles ; and 
when he poised the ponderous two-handed sword of his ances- 
tors, you would have thought you saw the doughty little David 
wielding the sword of Goliath,"^ which was unto him like a 
weaver's beam. 

However, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on this descrip- 
tion of the Marquis and his chateau, but you must excuse me ; 
he was an old friend of my uncle, and whenever my uncle told 
the story, he was always fond of talking a great deal about his 
host. Poor httle Marquis ! He was one of that handful of 
gallant courtiers who made such a devoted but hopeless stand 
in the cause of their sovereign, in the chateau of the Tuileries,^ 
against the irruption of the mob on the sad loth of August. 
He displayed the valor of a preux ^ French chevalier to the last ; 
flourishing feebly his little court sword with a (a-ga ! ^ in face of 
a whole legion of sans-culottesj ^ but was pinned to the wall like 

1 A giant leader of the Philistines, supposed to have flourished in the 
eleventh century B.C. He challenged the Israelites to single combat, but 
no one was found willing to meet him except David (Hebrew poet, prophet, 
and king, born about 1090 B.C.), who slew him with a stone from his sHng 
(see I Sam. xvii). 

2 During the French Revolution, Louis XVI., King of France, took up his 
abode in the palace of the Tuileries in Paris. On Aug. 10, 1792, a mob, 
armed with weapons of every sort, rushed upon the Tuileries, battering its 
walls and destroying everything within reach. The King escaped, but was 
shortly after imprisoned, and executed in 1 793. 

3 Brave. * A French exclamation; literally, "so, so." 

5 Sans-culottes (" ragamuffms ") was a name applied in contempt to the 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. :^2t 

a butterfly, by the pike of a poissarde} and his heroic soul was 
borne up to heaven on his ailes de pigeon. 

But all this has nothing to do with my stoVy. To the point, 
then. When the hour arrived for retiring for the night, my uncle 
was shown to his room in a venerable old tower. It was the 
oldest part of the chateau, and had in ancient times been the don- 
jon or stronghold ; of course the chamber was none of the best. 
The Marquis had put him there, however, because he knew him 
to be a traveler of taste, and fond of antiquities ; and also be- 
cause the better apartments were already occupied. Indeed, he 
perfectly reconciled my uncle to his quarters by mentioning 
the great personages who had once inhabited them, all of whom 
were, in some way or other, connected with the family. If 
you would take his word for it, John Baliol, or, as he called 
him, Jean de Bailleul, had died of chagrin in this very chamber, 
on hearing of the success of his rival, Robert de Bruce, at the 
battle of Bannockburn ; 2 and when he added that the Duke de 
Guise '^ had slept in it, my uncle was fain to felicitate himself on 
being honored with such distinguished quarters. 

democrats of the French Revolution, who were styled the " ragamuffins of 
society." They, however, glorying in the name, affected a negligence of 
dress, and went about in blouses, red caps, and wooden shoes. 

1 A woman of the lowest class. 

2 Towards the end of the thirteenth century a great feud arose in Scotland 
over the succession to the throne. The chief claimants were Robert Bruce 
(1210-95) ^"<^ John Baliol (1249-1315). Edward I. of England, claiming 
the right of decision, handed the government over to Baliol, subject to his 
command. After a while, however, the Scots, desiring perfect freedom, re- 
belled, with Baliol as their leader. The English conquered, Baliol resigned 
and was taken prisoner, and the King of England ruled Scotland through a 
council of regency till 1305. Then Scotland again sprang to arms under 
Robert Bruce (1274-1329), grandson of the original claimant. The English 
were badly defeated in the battle of Bannockburn, June 24, 1314, and the 
Scotch independence was regained, though not formally recognized by Eng- 
land till 1328. 

3 There are several men famous in French history who bear the name of 
" Duke de Guise." This probably refers to Henry I. of Lorraine (1550-8S), 



34 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

The night was shrewd ^ and windy, and the chamber none of 
the warmest. An old, long-faced, long-bodied servant, in quaint 
livery, who attended upon my uncle, threw down an armful of 
wood beside the fireplace, gave a queer look about the room, 
and then wished him bon repos^ with a grimace and a shrug that 
would have been suspicious from any other than an old French 
servant. 

The chamber had indeed a wild, crazy look, enough to strike 
any one who had read romances with apprehension and forebod- 
ing. The windows were high and narrow, and had once been 
loopholes, but had been rudely enlarged, as well as the extreme 
thickness of the walls would permit ; and the ill-fitted casements 
rattled to every breeze. You would have thought, on a windy 
night, some of the old leaguers were tramping and clanking about 
the apartment in their huge boots and ratthng spurs. A door 
which stood ajar, and, like a true French door, would stand ajar 
in spite of every reason and effort to the contrary, opened up- 
on a long, dark corridor, that led the Lord knows whither, and 
seemed just made for ghosts to air themselves in, when they 
turned out of their graves at midnight. The wind would spring 
up into a hoarse murmur through this passage, and creak the door 
to and fro, as if some dubious ghost were balancing in its mind 
whether to come in or not. In a word, it was precisely the 
kind of comfortless apartment that a ghost, if ghost there were 
in the chateau, would single out for its favorite lounge. 

My uncle, however, though a man accustomed to meet with 
strange adventures, apprehended none at the time. He made 
several attempts to shut the door, but in vain. Not that he ap- 
prehended anything, for he was too old a traveler to be daunted 
by a wild-looking apartment ; but the night, as I have said, 
was cold and gusty, and the wind howled about the old turret 
pretty much as it does round this old mansion at this moment, 

Duke de Guise, surnamed " Balafr6 the Scarred," on account of a wound 
received in battle. 

1 Keen. 2 Good night- 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 35 

and the breeze from the long dark corridor came in as damp 
and as chilly as if from a dungeon. My uncle, therefore, since 
he could not close the door, threw a quantity of wood on the 
fire, which soon sent up a flame in the great wide-mouthed 
chimney that illumined the whole chamber, and made the shad- 
ow of the tongs on the opposite wall look like a long-legged 
giant. My uncle now clambered on the top of the half score of 
mattresses which form a French bed, and which stood in a deep 
recess ; then, tucking himself snugly in, and burying himself up 
to the chin in the bedclothes, he lay looking at the fire, and lis- 
tening to the wind, and thinking how knowingly he had come 
over his friend the Marquis for a night's lodging — and so he fell 
asleep. 

He had not taken above half of his first nap when he was awak- 
ened by the clock of the chateau, in the turret over his chamber, 
which struck midnight. It was just such an old clock as ghosts 
are fond of. It had a deep, dismal tone, and struck so slowly 
and tediously that my uncle thought it would never have done. 
He counted and counted till he was confident he counted thir- 
teen, and then it stopped. 

The fire had burned low, and the blaze of the last fagot was 
almost expiring, burning in small blue flames, which now and 
then lengthened up into little white gleams. My uncle lay with 
his eyes half closed, and his nightcap drawn almost down to his 
nose. His fancy was already wandering, and began to mingle 
up the present scene with the crater of Vesuvius, the French 
Opera, the Coliseum ^ at Rome, Dolly's chophouse in London, 
and all the farrago of noted places with which the brain of a 
traveler is crammed, — in a word, he was just falHng asleep. 

Suddenly he was roused by the sound of footsteps, slowly pac- 
ing along the corridor. My uncle, as I have often heard him 
say himself, was a man not easily frightened. So he lay quiet, 

1 A large Roman amphitheater, one of the most imposing structures in the 
world, finished in A. D. 80. When first built it was chiefly used for the com- 
bats of the gladiators. It is now in ruins. 



36 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

« 

supposing this some other guest, or some servant on his way to 
bed. The footsteps, however, approached the door ; the door 
gently opened, — whether of its own accord, or whether pushed 
open, my uncle could not distinguish ; a figure all in white glided 
in. It was a female, tall and stately, and of a commanding air. 
Her dress was of an ancient fashion, ample in volume, and sweep- 
ing the floor. She walked up to the fireplace, without regarding 
my uncle, who raised his nightcap with one hand, and stared 
earnestly at her. She remained for some time standing by the 
fire, which, flashing up at intervals, cast blue and white gleams 
of light, that enabled my uncle to remark her appearance minutely. 

Her face was ghastly pale, and perhaps rendered still more so 
by the bluish hght of the fire. It possessed beauty, but its beauty 
was saddened by care and anxiety. There was the look of one 
accustomed to trouble, but of one whom trouble could not cast 
down nor subdue ; for there was still the predominating air of 
proud, unconquerable resolution. Such, at least, was the opinion 
formed by my uncle, and he considered himself a great physiog- 
nomist. 

The figure remained, as I said, for some time by the fire, put- 
ting out first one hand, then the other ; then each foot alternately, 
as if warming itself ; for your ghosts, if ghost it really was, are 
apt to be cold. My uncle, furthermore, remarked that it wore 
high-heeled shoes, after an ancient fashion, with paste or diamond 
buckles that sparkled as though they were ahve. At length 
the figure turned gently round, casting a glassy look about the 
apartment, which, as it passed over my uncle, made his blood 
run cold, and chilled the very marrow in his bones. It then 
stretched its arms towards heaven, clasped its hands, and wringing 
them in a supplicating manner, ghded slowly out of the room. 

My uncle lay for some time meditating on this visitation, for 
(as he remarked when he told me the story), though a man of 
firmness, he was also a man of reflection, and did not reject a 
thing because it was out of the regular course of events. How- 
ever, being, as I have before said, a great traveler, and accus- 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 37 

tomed to strange adventures, he drew his nightcap resolutely over 
his eyes, turned his back to the door, hoisted the bedclothes high 
over his shoulders, and gradually fell asleep. 

How long he slept he could not say, when he was awakened 
by the voice of some one at his bedside. He turned round, and 
beheld the old French servant, with his earlocks in tight buckles 
on each side of a long, lantern face, on which habit had deeply 
wrinkled an everlasting smile. He made a thousand grimaces, 
and asked a thousand pardons for disturbing Monsieur, but the 
morning was considerable advanced. While my uncle was dress- 
ing, he called vaguely to mind the visitor of the preceding night. 
He asked the ancient domestic what lady was in the habit of 
rambling about this part of the chateau at night. The old valet 
shrugged his shoulders as high as his head, laid one hand on his 
bosom, threw open the other wnth every finger extended, made 
a most whimsical grimace which he meant to be complimentary, 
and replied that it was not for him to know anything of les bon?ies 
foj'times^ of Monsieur. 

My uncle saw there was nothing satisfactory to be learned in 
this quarter. After breakfast, he was walking with the Marquis 
through the modern apartments of the chateau, sliding over the 
well-waxed floors of silken saloons, amidst furniture rich in gild- 
ing and brocade, until they came to a long picture gallery, con- 
taining many portraits, some in oil and some in chalks. 

Here was an ample field for the eloquence of his host, who 
had all the pride of a nobleman of the ancien regime.^ There 
was not a grand name in Normandy, and hardly one in France, 
which was not, in some way or other, connected with his house. 
My uncle stood listening with inward impatience, resting some- 
times on one leg, sometimes on the other, as the little Marquis 
descanted, with his usual fire and vivacity, on the achievements 
of his ancestors, whose portraits hung along the wall ; from the 

1 Adventures ; literally, the good fortune. 

2 Ancient order of things, that obtained in France prior to the Revolution 
(see Note i, p. 29). 



3S WASHIXCTOX IRVIXG. 

martial deeds of the stern warriors in steel, to the gallantries and 
intrigues of the blue-eyed gentlemen, with fair, smiling faces, pow- 
dered earlocks, laced ruffles, and pink and blue silk coats and 
breeches ; not forgetting the conquests of the lovely shepherdesses, 
with hooped petticoats, and waists no thicker than an hourglass, 
who appeared ruling over their sheep and their swains, with dainty 
crooks decorated M-ith fluttering ribbons. 

In the midst of his friend's discourse, my uncle vras startled 
on beholding a full-length portrait, the very counterpart of his 
visitor of the preceding night. 

" Methinks," said he, pointing to it, " I ha\'e seen the original 
of this portrait." 

" Fardon?iez fnoi,'"^ replied the Marquis politely, "that can 
hardly be, as the lady has been dead more than a hundred years. 
That was the beautiful Duchess de Longueville, who figured dur- 
ing the minority of Louis XIV." 

" And was there anything remarkable in her histor}- ? " 

Never was question more unlucky. The little Marquis immedi- 
ately threw himself into the attitude of a man about to tell a long 
story. In fact, my uncle had pulled upon himself the whole his- 
tory of the civil war of the Fronde, ^ in which the beautiful Duch- 

1 Excuse me. 

2 Louis XIV. (1638-1715) succeeded his father as King of France at the 
age of five, l)ut during his minority the management of the government was 
virtually left to Cardinal Jules Mazarin (1602-61), who had succeeded Car- 
dinal Richelieu as prime minister. The war of the Fronde was a rising of 
the nobles to throw off the yoke laid on them by Richelieu, who had brought 
them into subjection to the King. The immediate cause of the outbreak was 
the attempt of Mazarin to punish the Parliament of Paris for having brought 
about the dismissal of a favorite, but corrupt, agent of his. When Broussel, 
a member especially beloved by the people, was arrested, the mob rose in 
arms, seized whatever they could lay hands on, and barricaded the streets of 
Paris, Aug. 5, 1648. Broussel being released, quiet was for a time restored. 
Then it was that the discontented nobles united their cause with that of Paris 
and the Parliament, and a new war of the Fronde broke out. The chief 
instigator was the Duchess de Longueville (1619-79), daughter of Henri de 
Bourbon, Prince de Conde. She induced her husband, the Due de Longue- 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 39 

ess had played so distinguished a part. Turenne, Coligni, Maza- 
rin, were called up from their graves to grace his narration ; nor 
were the affairs of the barricaders nor the chivalry of the portes 
cocheres ^ forgotten. My uncle began to wish himself a thousand 
leagues off from the Marquis and his merciless memory, when 
suddenly the little man's recollections took a more interesting 
turn. He was relating the imprisonment of the Duke de Lon- 
gueville with the Princes Conde and Conti in the chateau of Vin- 
cennes,- and the ineffectual efforts of the Duchess to rouse the 
sturdy Normans to their rescue. He had come to that part where 
she was invested by the royal forces in the castle of Dieppe.^ 

"The spirit of the Duchess," proceeded the Marquis, "rose 
from her trials. It was astonishing to see so delicate and beauti- 
ful a being buffet so resolutely with hardships. She determined 
on a desperate means of escape. You may have seen the chateau 
in which she was mewed up, — an old ragged wart of an edifice, 
standing on the knuckle of a hill, just above the rusty little town 
of Dieppe. One dark, unruly night she issued secretly out of a 
small postern gate of the castle, which the enemy had neglected 
to guard. The postern gate is there to this very day ; opening 

ville (i 595-1663), who was a French general, to join the cause, and also her 
two brothers, Louis II. de Bourbon, the Great Conde (1621-86), and Armand 
de Bourbon, Prince Conti (1629-66). In 1650, Conde, Conti, and the Due 
de Longueville were arrested, but the Duchess de Longueville escaped and 
secured the aid of Turenne (Henri de la Tour d'Auvergne, 161 1-75), Marshal 
of France, who attempted to release the prisoners. Soon thereafter, all 
being weary of the war, Louis XIV. was invited back to Paris, Mazarin was 
recalled, and the leaders of the war were obliged to flee. 

1 Twelve thousand men were raised to carry on the war of the Fronde. 
By act of Parliament each porte cochh'e (" carriage entrance") was taxed to 
furnish one mounted soldier. This cavalry was known as la cavalerie des 
portes cocheres; that is, the cavalry, or chivalry, of the carriage entrances. 

2 A town of France near Paris. The castle of Vincennes, erected in the 
midst of a forest, at first used as a royal residence, was later made a state 
prison. 

3 A seaport of France on the English Channel, at one time the principal 
port of France. 



40 WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. 

upon a narrow bridge over a deep fosse between the castle and 
the brow of the hill. She was followed by her female attendants, 
a few domestics, and some gallant cavahers, who still remained 
faithful to her fortunes. Her object was to gain a small port 
about two leagues distant, where she had privately provided a 
vessel for her escape in case of emergency. 

" The little band of fugitives were obliged to perform the dis- 
tance on foot. When they arrived at the port the wind was high 
and stormy, the tide contrary, the vessel anchored far off in the 
road, and no means of getting on board but by a fishing shallop 
which lay tossing like a cockle shell on the edge of the surf. 
The Duchess determined to risk the attempt. The seamen endeav- 
ored to dissuade her, but the imminence of her danger on shore, 
and the magnanimity of her spirit, urged her on. She had to 
be borne to the shallop in the arms of a mariner. Such was the 
violence of the wind and waves that he faltered, lost his foothold, 
and let his precious burden fall into the sea. 

" The Duchess was nearly drowned, but partly through her own 
struggles, partly by the exertions of the seamen, she got to land. 
As soon as she had a little recovered strength, she insisted on 
renewing the attempt. The storm, however, had by this time be- 
come so violent as to set all efforts at defiance. To delay was to 
be discovered and taken prisoner. As the only resource left, she 
procured horses, mounted with her female attendants, en croupe} 
behind the gallant gentlemen who accompanied her, and scoured 
the countr}^ to seek some temporary asylum. 

" While the Duchess," continued the Marquis, laying his fore- 
finger on my uncle's breast to arouse his flagging attention — 
" while the Duchess, poor lady, was wandering amid the tempest 
in this disconsolate manner, she arrived at this chateau. Her ap- 
proach caused some uneasiness ; for the clattering of a troop of 
horse at dead of night up the avenue of a lonely chateau, in 
those unsettled times, and in a troubled part of the country, was 
enough to occasion alarm. 

^ On pillions, or pads, behind the saddle. 



TALES Of A TRAVELER. 41 

" A tall, broad-shouldered chasseur, armed to the teeth, gal- 
loped ahead, and announced the name of the visitor. All un- 
easiness was dispelled. The household turned out with flam- 
beaux to receive her, and never did torches gleam on a more 
weather-beaten, travel-stained band than came tramping into the 
court. Such pale, careworn faces, such bedraggled dresses, as 
the poor Duchess and her females presented, each seated behind 
her cavalier; while the half drenched, half drowsy pages and 
attendants seemed ready to fall from their horses with sleep and 
fatigue. 

" The Duchess was received with a hearty welcome by my 
ancestor. She was ushered into the hall of the chateau, and the 
fires soon crackled and blazed, to cheer herself and her train ; 
and every spit and stewpan was put in requisition to prepare 
ample refreshment for the wayfarers. 

" She had a right to our hospitalities," continued the Marquis, 
drawing himself up with a slight degree of stateliness, "for she 
was related to our family. I'll tell you how it was. Her father, 
Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Conde " ^ — 

" But did the Duchess pass the night in the chateau ? " said 
my uncle rather abruptly, terrified at the idea of getting involved 
in one of the Marquis's genealogical discussions. 

" Oh, as to the Duchess, she was put into the very apartment 
you occupied last night, which at that time was a kind of state 
apartment. Her followers were quartered in the chambers open- 
ing upon the neighboring corridor, and her favorite page slept 
in an adjoining closet. Up and down the corridor walked the 
great chasseur who had announced her arrival, and who acted 
as a kind of sentinel or guard. He was a dark, stern, powerful- 
looking fellow ; and as the light of a lamp in the corridor fell 
upon his deeply marked face and sinewy form, he seemed capa- 
ble of defending the castle with his single arm. 

" It was a rough, rude night, about this time of the year — 

1 Henry de Bourbon, Prince of Conde (1552-58), father of the Duchess 
de Longueville, and of the Grand Conde and the Prince of Conti. 



42 WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. 

apropos ! now I think of it, last night was the anniversary of her 
visit. I may well remember the precise date, for it was a night 
not to be forgotten by our house. There is a singular tradition 
concerning it in our family." Here the Marquis hesitated, and 
a cloud seemed to gather about his bushy eyebrows. "There is 
a tradition — that a strange occurrence took place that night, — a 
strange, mysterious, inexpHcable occurrence " — Here he checked 
himself, and paused. 

" Did it relate to that lady ? " inquired my uncle eagerly. 

" It was past the hour of midnight," resumed the Marquis, 
" when the whole chateau " — Here he paused again. My uncle 
made a movement of anxious curiosity. 

" Excuse me," said the Marquis, a slight blush streaking his 
sallow \^sage. " There are some circumstances connected with 
our family history which I do not like to relate. That was a 
rude period, a time of great crimes among great men ; for you 
know high blood, when it runs wrong, will not run tamely, like 
blood of the canaille y Poor lady ! But I have a little family 
pride, that — excuse me — we will change the subject, if you 
please." 

My uncle's curiosity was piqued. The pompous and magnifi- 
cent introduction had led him to expect something wonderful in 
the story to which it served as a kind of avenue. He had no 
idea of being cheated out of it by a sudden fit of unreasonable 
squeamishness. Besides, being a traveler in quest of informa- 
tion, he considered it his duty to inquire into ever}-thing. 

The Marquis, however, evaded every question. 

" Well," said my uncle, a little petulantly, " whatever you may 
think of it, I saw that lady last night." 

The Marquis stepped back and gazed at him with surprise. 

" She paid me a visit in my bedchamber." 

The Marquis pulled out his snuffbox with a shrug and a smile, 
taking this, no doubt, for an awkward piece of English pleasantry, 
which politeness required him to be charmed with. 

1 Lowest class of people. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 43 

My uncle went on gravely, however, and related the whole 
circumstance. The Marquis heard him through with profound 
attention, holding his snuffbox unopened in his hand. When the 
story was finished, he tapped on the lid of his box deliberately, 
took a long, sonorous pinch of snuff — 

" Bah ! " said the Marquis, and walked towards the other end 
of the gallery. 

Here the narrator paused. The company waited for some 
time for him to resume his narration ; but he continued silent. 

"Well," said the inquisitive gentleman, "and what did your 
uncle say then ? " 

" Nothing," rephed the other, 

" And what did the Marquis say further ? " 

" Nothing." 

" And is that all ? " 

" That is all," said the narrator, filling a glass of wine. 

" I surmise," said the shrewd old gentleman with the waggish 
nose, " I surmise the ghost must have been the old housekeeper, 
w^alking her rounds to see that all was right." 

*' Bah ! " said the narrator. " My uncle was too much accus- 
tomed to strange sights not to know a ghost from a housekeeper." 

There was a murmur round the table, half of merriment, half 
of disappointment. I was inclined to think the old gentleman 
had really an after part of his story in reserve ; but he sipped his 
wine and said nothing more ; and there was an odd expression 
about his dilapidated countenance which left me in doubt whether 
he were in drollery or earnest. 

" Egad," said the knowing gentleman with the flexible nose, 
" this story of your uncle puts me in mind of one that used to be 
told of an aunt of mine, by the mother's side ; though I don't 
know that it will bear a comparison, as the good lady was not so 
prone to meet with strange adventures. Btt at any rate you shall 
have it." 



44 WASHIXGTON JRVIXG. 

THE ADVENTURE OF MY AUNT. 

MY aunt was a lady of large frame, strong mind, and great 
resolution. She was what might be termed a very manly 
woman. ]\Iy uncle was a thin, puny little man, ver\^ meek and 
acquiescent, and no match for my aunt. It was observed that 
he dwindled and dwindled gradually away, from the day of his 
marriage. His wife's powerful mind was too much for him ; it 
wore him out. My aunt, however, took all possible care of him ; 
had half the doctors in town to prescribe for him ; made him 
take all their prescriptions, and dosed him with physic enough to 
cure a whole hospital. All was in vain. ^ly uncle grew worse 
and worse the more dosing and nursing he underwent, until in 
the end he added another to the long list of matrimonial victims 
who have been killed with kindness. 

** And was it his ghost that appeared to her ? " asked the in- 
quisitive gentleman, who had questioned the former story-teller. 

"You shall hear," rephed the narrator. — My aunt took on 
mightily for the death of her poor dear husband. Perhaps she 
felt some compunction at having given him so much physic, and 
nursed him into the grave. At any rate, she did all that a widow 
could do to honor his memory. She spared no expense in either 
the quantity or quality of her mourning weeds ; wore a miniature 
of him about her neck as large as a little sundial, and had a full- 
length portrait of him always hanging in her bedchamber. All 
the world extolled her conduct to the skies ; and it was deter- 
mined that a woman who behaved so well to the memory of one 
husband deserved soon to get another. 

It was not long after this that she went to take up her residence 
in an old countr\^ seat in Derbyshire,^ which had long been in the 
care of merely a steward and housekeeper. She took most of 

1 Derbyshire, or Derby, is a county of England, whose capital, Derby, is 
thirty-five miles northeast of Birmingham. 



Q) 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 45 

her servants with her, intending to make it her principal abode. 
The house stood in a lonely, wild part of the country, among 
the gray Derbyshire hills, with a murderer hanging in chains on 
a bleak height in full view. 

The servants from town were half frightened out of their wits 
at the idea of living in such a dismal, pagan-looking place ; espe- 
cially when they got together in the servants' hall in the even- 
ing, and compared notes on all the hobgoblin stories picked up 
in the course of the day. They were afraid to venture alone 
about the gloomy, black-looking chambers. My lady's maid, 
who was troubled with nerves, declared she could never sleep 
alone in such a " gashly,i rummaging old building ;" and the foot- 
man, who was a kind-hearted young fellow, did all in his power 
to cheer her up. . 

My aunt was struck with the lonely appearance of the house. 
Before going to bed, therefore, she examined well the fastnesses 
of the doors and windows ; locked up the plate with her own 
hands, and carried the keys, together with a little box of money 
and jewels, to her own room ; for she was a notable woman, and 
always saw to all things herself. Having put the keys under her 
"pillow, and dismissed her maid, she sat by her toilet arranging 
her hair ; for being, in spite of her grief for my uncle, rather a 
buxom widow, she was somewhat particular about her person. 
She sat for a little while looking at her face in the glass, first on 
one side, then on the other, as ladies are apt to do when they 
would ascertain whether they have been in good looks ; for a 
roistering country squire of the neighborhood, with whom she 
had flirted when a girl, had called that day to welcome her to 
the country. 

All of a sudden she thought she heard something move behind 
her. She looked hastily round, but there was nothing to be seen. 
Nothing but the grimly painted portrait of her poor dear man, 
hanging against the wall. 

She gave a heavy sigh to his memory, as she was accustomed 

1 Ghastly. 



46 IVASHINGTOX IRVING. 

to do whenever she spoke of him in company, and then went on 
adjusting her nightdress, and thinking of the squire. Her sigh 
was reechoed, or answered, by a long-dra\\Ti breath. She looked 
round again, but no one was to be seen. She ascribed these 
sounds to the wind oozing through the rat holes of the old man- 
sion, and proceeded leisurely to put her hair in papers, when, all 
at once, she thought she perceived one of the eyes of the portrait 
move. 

" The back of her head being towards it I " said the story-teller 
with the ruined head, — " good ! " 

" Yes, sir," rephed dryly the narrator, " her back being towards 
the portrait, but her eyes fixed on its reflection in the glass." — 
Well, as I was saying, she perceived one of the eyes of the por- 
trait move. So strange a circumstance, as you may well suppose, 
ga\-e her a sudden shock. To assure herself of the fact, she put 
one hand to her forehead as if rubbing it ; peeped through her 
fingers, and moved the candle with the other hand. The light 
of the taper gleamed on the eye, and was reflected from it. She 
was sure it moved. Nay, more, it seemed to give her a wink, 
as she had sometimes known her husband to do when living ! 
It struck a momentary chill to her heart ; for she was a lone wo- 
man, and felt herself fearfully situated. 

The chill was but transient. My aunt, who was almost as reso- 
lute a personage as your uncle, sir [turning to the old story-teller], 
became instantly calm and collected. She went on adjusting her 
dress. She even hummed an air, and did not make even a single 
false note. She casually overturned a dressing box ; took a can- 
dle and picked up the articles one by one from the floor ; pursued 
a rolling pincushion that was making the best of its way under 
the bed ; then opened the door ; looked for an instant into the 
corridor, as if in doubt whether to go ; and then walked quietly 
out. 

She hastened downstairs, ordered the servants to arm them- 
selves with the weapons first at hand, placed herself at their head, 
and returned almost immediatclv. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 47 

Her hastily levied army presented a formidable force. The 
steward had a rusty blunderbuss, the coachman a loaded whip, 
the footman a pair of horse pistols, the cook a huge chopping 
knife, and the butler a bottle in each hand. My aunt led the 
van with a red-hot poker, and in my opinion she was the most 
formidable of the party. The waiting maid, who dreaded to stay 
alone in the servants' hall, brought up the rear, smelling to a 
broken bottle of volatile salts, and expressing her terror of the 
" ghostesses." " Ghosts ! " said my aunt resolutely. " I'll singe 
their whiskers for them ! " 

They entered the chamber. All was still and undisturbed as 
when she had left it. They approached the portrait of my uncle. 

"Pull down that picture !" cried my aunt. A heavy groan, 
and a sound like the chattering of teeth, issued from the portrait. 
The servants shrunk back ; the maid uttered a faint shriek, and 
clung to the footman for support. 

" Instantly ! " added my aunt, with a stamp of the foot. 

The picture was pulled down, and from a recess behind it, in 
which had formerly stood a clock, they hauled forth a round- 
shouldered, black-bearded varlet, with a knife as long as my arm, 
but trembling all over like an aspen leaf. 

" Well, and who was he ? No ghost, I suppose," said the 
inquisitive gentleman. 

''A knight of the post," ^ replied the narrator, "who had been 
smitten with the worth of the wealthy widow ; or rather, a maraud- 
ing Tarquin,2 who had stolen into her chamber to violate her 
purse, and rifle her strong box, when all the house should be 
asleep. In plain terms," continued he, " the vagabond was a 
loose, idle fellow of the neighborhood, who had once been a ser- 
vant in the house, and had been employed to assist in arranging 

1 " Knight of the post," i.e., an offender who has been punished at the 
whipping post ; hence, a sharper in general. 

- Tarquin the Proud, Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, seventh and last king 
of Rome (died about B.C. 495). His reign was characterized by bloodshed, 
violence, and aggressive warfare. 



4^ WASHINGTON IRVING. 

it for the reception of its mistress. He confessed that he had 
contrived this hiding place for his nefarious purpose, and had bor- 
rowed an eye from the portrait by way of a reconnoitering hole." 

"And what did they do with him ? Did they hang him ? " 
resumed the questioner. 

" Hang him ! How could they ? " exclaimed a beetle-browed ' 
barrister with a hawk's nose. " The offense was not capital. 
No robbery, no assault had been committed. No forcible entry 
or breaking into the premises " — 

" My aunt," said the narrator, " was a woman of spirit, and 
apt to take the law in her own hands. She had her own notions 
of cleanliness also. She ordered the fellow to be drawn through 
the horsepond, to cleanse away all offenses, and then to be well 
rubbed down with an oaken towel." - 

" And what became of him afterwards ? " said the inquisitive 
gentleman. 

" I do not exactly know, I believe he was sent on a voyage 
of improvement to Botany Bay."^ 

" And your aunt ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. " I'll war- 
rant she took care to make her maid sleep in the room with her 
after that." 

" No, sir, she did better ; she gave her hand shortly after to the 
roistering squire ; for she used to observe that it was a dismal 
thing for a woman to sleep alone in the country." 

" She was right," obserA^ed the inquisitive gentleman, nodding 
sagaciously ; "but I am sorry they did not hang that fellow." 

It was agreed on all hands that the last narrator had brought 
his tale to the most satisfactory conclusion, though a country 
clergyman present regretted that the uncle and aunt, who figured 
in the different stories, had not been married together ; they cer- 
tainly would have been well matched. 

1 Having shaggy, overhanging eyebrows, like the antennx of beetles. 

2 " An oaken towel," i.e., a cudgel. 

3 A harbor on the eastern coast of Australia, where there is an English 
convict settlement. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 49 

" But I don't see, after all," said the inquisitive gentleman, 
" that there was any ghost in this last story." 

" Oh, if it's ghosts you want, honey," cried the Irish Captain 
of Dragoons, " if it's ghosts you want, you shall have a whole 
regiment of them. And since these gentlemen have given the 
adventures of their uncles and aunts, faith, and I'll even give 
you a chapter out of my own family history." 



THE BOLD DRAGOON; 

OR, 

THE ADVENTURE OF MY GRANDFATHER, 

MY grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a profession, d'ye 
see, that has run in the family. All my forefathers have 
been dragoons, and died on the field of honor, except myself, 
and I hope my posterity may be able to say the same ; however, I 
don't mean to be vainglorious. Well, my grandfather, as I said, 
was a bold dragoon, and had served in the Low Countries. ^ In 
fact, he was one of that very army which, according to my uncle 
Toby,2 swore so terribly in Flanders. He could swear a good 
stick ^ himself ; and, moreover, was the very man that introduced 
the doctrine Corporal Trim * mentions of radical heat and radical 
moisture, or, in other words, the mode of keeping out the damps 
of ditch water by burnt brandy. Be that as it may, it's nothing 

1 Another name for the Netherlands. 

2 Uncle Toby, a character in Sterne's Tristram Shandy, was a captain who 
was wounded at the siege of Namur in Flanders, and was obliged to retire 
from the service, but who was always indulging in reminiscences about the 
battle (see Tristram Shandy, vol. iii., chap. xi. ). 

3 " A good stick," i.e., a good deal. 

* Corporal Trim was Uncle Toby's attendant, and was represented as faith- 
ful, simple-minded, and affectionate. For his doctrine of radical heat and 
radical moisture, see Tristram Shandy, vol. v., chap, xxxviii. 

4 



^ 



so IVASHIXGTON IRVING. 

to the purport of my story. I only tell it to show you that my 
grandfather was a man not easily to be humbugged. He had 
seen service, or, according to his own phrase, he had seen the 
devil, and that's saying everything. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way to England, 
for which he intended to embark from Ostend i — bad luck to the 
place ! for one where I was kept by storms and head winds for 
three long days, and the devil of a ^ joHy companion or pretty girl 
to comfort me. Well, as I was saying, my grandfather was on 
his way to England, or rather to Ostend — no matter which, it's 
all the same. So one evening, towards nightfall, he rode jollily 
into Bruges.^ Very like you all know Bruges, gentlemen ; a 
queer, old-fashioned, Flemish * town, once, they say, a great place 
for trade and money-making in old times, when the Mynheers 
were in their glory ; but almost as large and as empty as an 
Irishman's pocket at the present day. Well, gentlemen, it was 
at the time of the annual fair. All Bruges was crowded ; and 
the canals swarmed with Dutch boats, and the streets swarmed 
with Dutch merchants ; and there was hardly any getting along 
for goods, wares, and merchandises, and peasants in big breeches, 
and women in half a score of petticoats. 

My grandfather rode jollily along, in his easy, slashing way, 
for he was a saucy, sunshiny fellow, staring about him at the 
motley crowd, and the old houses with gable ends to the street, 
and storks' nests in the chimneys ; winking at the juffrouws ^ who 
showed their faces at the windows, and joking the women right 
and left in the street ; all of whom laughed, and took it in amaz- 
ing good part ; for though he did not know a word of the lan- 
guage, yet he had always a knack of making himself understood 
among the women. 

1 A seaport town of Belgium in West Flanders. 

2 " The devil of a," a phrase used to contradict a statement. 

3 The capital of the province of West Flanders in Belgium. It owes its 
name to the number of bridges which cross its canals. 

4 Pertaining to Flanders. ^ Young ladies. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 5 1 

Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the annual fair, all the 
town was crowded, every inn and tavern full, and my grand- 
father applied in vain from one to the other for admittance. At 
length he rode up to an old rickety inn, that looked ready to fall 
to pieces, and which all the rats would have run away from if 
they could have found room in any other house to put their 
heads. It was just such a queer building as you see in Dutch 
pictures, with a tall roof that reached up into the clouds, and 
as many garrets, one over the other, as the seven heavens of 
Mahomet. 1 Nothing had saved it from tumbling down but a 
stork's nest on the chimney, which always brings good luck to a 
house in the Low Countries ; and at the very time of my grand- 
father's arrival, there were two of these long-legged birds of grace 
standing like ghosts on the chimney top. Faith, but they've kept 
the house on its legs to this very day, for you may see it any 
time you pass through Bruges, as it stands there yet, only it is 
turned into a brewery of strong Flemish beer, — at least it was 
so when I came that way after the battle of Waterloo.^ 

My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he approached. 
It might not have altogether struck his fancy, had he not seen 
in large letters over the door, 

" HIER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN DRANK." ^ 

My grandfather had learned enough of the language to know 
that the sign promised good liquor. '* This is the house for me," 
said he, stopping short before the door. 

The sudden appearance of a dashing dragoon was an event in 

1 Mahomet, or Mohammed (570-632), the founder of Mohammedanism, a 
widely diffused religion. He believed in seven heavens, placed one above the 
other, to which, as alleged by his followers, he made a journey one night, ac- 
companied by the angel Gabriel. 

2 The battle fought in 181 5 in which the English and Prussians, under 
the Duke of Wellington, defeated the French, under Napoleon Bonaparte, and 
rescued Europe from French domination. 

^ Here cfood drink is sold. 



52 WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. 

an old inn frequented only by the peaceful sons of traffic. A rich 
burgher of Antwerp, a stately, ample man in a broad Flemish hat, 
and who was the great man and great patron of the estabhsh- 
ment, sat smoking a clean, long pipe on one side of the door ; a fat 
little distiller of Geneva, ^ from Schiedam, 2 sat smoking on the 
other ; and the bottle-nosed ^ host stood in the door, and the 
comely hostess, in crimped cap, beside him ; and the hostess's 
daughter, a plump Flanders lass, with long gold pendants in her 
ears, was at a side window. 

" Humph ! " said the rich burgher of Antwerp, with a sulky 
glance at the stranger. 

" De duyvel ! ""* said the fat Httle distiller of Schiedam. 

The landlord saw, with the quick glance of a publican, that 
the new guest was not at all to the taste of the old ones ; and, 
to tell the truth, he did not like my grandfather's saucy eye. 
He shook his head. " Not a garret in the house but is full." 

" Not a garret ! " echoed the landlady. 

'' Not a garret ! " echoed the daughter. 

The burgher of Antwerp and the httle distiller of Schiedam con- 
tinued to smoke their pipes sullenly, eying the enemy askance from 
under their broad hats, but said nothing. 

My grandfather was not a man to be browbeaten. He threw 
the reins on his horse's neck, cocked his head on one side, stuck 
one arm akimbo. " Faith and troth! " said he, "but Til sleep in 
this house this very night." As he said this he gave a slap on 
his thigh, by way of emphasis. The slap went to the landlady's 
heart. 

He followed up the vow by jumping off his horse, and making 
his way past the staring Mynheers into the public room. Maybe 
you've been in the barroom of an old Flemish inn. Faith, but 
a handsome chamber it was as you'd wish to see ; with a brick 

1 A strongly alcoholic liquor made in Holland; called also " Hollands." 

2 A town of Holland famed for its gin. 

3 Having a nose bottle-shaped, or large at the end. 
' The devil. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 53 

floor, and a great fireplace, with the whole Bible history in glazed 
tiles ; and then the mantelpiece, pitching itself head foremost out 
of the wall, with a whole regiment of cracked teapots and earthen 
jugs paraded on it ; not to mention half a dozen great Delft ^ 
platters, hung about the room by way of pictures, and the httle 
bar in one corner, and the bouncing barmaid inside of it, with a 
red calico cap, and yellow eardrops. 

My grandfather snapped his fingers over his head, as he cast 
an eye round the room. " Faith, this is the very house I've been 
looking after," said he. 

There was some further show of resistance on the part of the 
garrison ; but my grandfather was an old soldier, and an Irish- 
man to boot,2 and not easily repulsed, especially after he had 
got into the fortress. So he blarneyed the landlord, kissed the 
landlord's wife, tickled the landlord's daughter, chucked the bar- 
maid under the chin ; and it was agreed on all hands that it would 
be a thousand pities, and a burning shame into the bargain, to 
turn such a bold dragoon into the streets. So they laid their 
heads together — that is to say, my grandfather and the landlady — 
and it was at length agreed to accommodate him with an old 
chamber that had been for some time shut up. 

" Some say it's haunted," whispered the landlord's daughter ; 
"but you are a bold dragoon, and I dare say don't fear ghosts." 

"The devil a bit !" said my grandfather, pinching her plump 
cheek. " But if I should be troubled by ghosts, I've been to 
the Red Sea in my time, and have a pleasant way of laying^ 
them, my darling." 

And then he whispered something to the girl which made her 
laugh, and give him a good-humored box on the ear. In short, 
there was nobody knew better how to make his way among the 
petticoats * than my grandfather. 

In a little while, as was his usual way, he took complete pos- 

1 Pottery made at the city of Delft in Holland. 

2 " To boot," i.e., in addition. 

3 Exorcising. 4 Women. 



54 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

session of the house, swaggering all over it ; into the stable to 
look after his horse, into the kitchen to look after his supper. 
He had something to say or do with every one ; smoked with the 
Dutchmen, drank with the Germans, slapped the landlord on the 
shoulder, romped with his daughter and the barmaid. Never, 
since the days of Alley Croaker, had such a rattling blade ^ been 
seen. The landlord stared at him with astonishment ; the land- 
lord's daughter hung her head and giggled whenever he came 
near; and as he swaggered along the corridor, with his sword 
traihng by his side, the maids looked after him and whispered 
to one another, "What a proper- man!" 

At supper, my grandfather took command of the table d'hote 
as though he had been at home ; helped everybody, not forget- 
ting himself ; talked with every one, whether he understood their 
language or not ; and made his way into the intimacy of the rich 
burgher of Antwerp, who had never been known to be sociable 
with any one during his life. In fact, he revolutionized the whole 
establishment, and gave it such a rouse that the very house reeled 
with it. He outsat every one at table, excepting the little fat 
distiller of Schiedam, who sat soaking a long time before he 
broke forth ; but when he did, he was a very devil incarnate. 
He took a violent affection for my grandfather ; so they sat drink- 
ing and smoking, and telling stories, and singing Dutch and Irish 
songs, without understanding a word each other said, until the 
little Hollander was fairly swamped with his own gin and water, 
and carried off to bed, whooping and hiccoughing, and trolling 
the burden of a Low Dutch love song. 

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was shown to his quarters up 
a large staircase composed of loads of hewn timber ; and through 
long rigmarole^ passages, hung with blackened paintings of fish 
and fruit and game, and country frolics, and huge kitchens, and 
portly burgomasters, such as you see about old-fashioned Flemish 
inns, till at length he arrived at his room. 

1 " Rattling blade," i.e., reckless fellow. 

2 Handsome. 3 Confusing. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 55 

An old times chamber it was, sure enough, and crowded with 
all kinds of trumpery. It looked like an infirmary for decayed 
and superannuated furniture, where everything diseased or dis- 
abled was sent to nurse or to be forgotten. Or rather it might 
be taken for a general congress of old legitimate movables, where 
every kind and country had a representative. No two chairs 
were alike. Such high backs, and low backs, and leather bot- 
toms, and worsted bottoms, and straw bottoms, and no bottoms ; 
and cracked marble tables with curiously carved legs, holding 
balls in their claws, as though they were going to play at nine- 
pins. 

My grandfather made a bow to the motley assemblage as he 
entered, and, having undressed himself, placed his light in the fire- 
place, asking pardon of the tongs, which seemed to be making 
love to the shovel in the chimney corner, and whispering soft non- 
sense in its ear. 

TJie rest of the guests were by this time sound asleep, for your 
Mynheers are huge sleepers. The housemaids, one by one, crept 
up yawning to their attics ; and not a female head in the inn was 
laid on a pillow that night without dreaming of the bold dragoon. 

My grandfather, for his part, got into bed, and drew over him 
one of those great bags of down, under which they smother a 
man in the Low Countries ; and there he lay, melting between 
two feather beds, like an anchovy sandwich between two slices 
of toast and butter. He was a warm-complexioned man, and 
this smothering played the very deuce with him.^ So, sure enough, 
in a little time it seemed as if a legion of imps were twitching at 
him, and all the blood in his veins was in a fever heat. 

He lay still, however, until all the house was quiet, excepting 
the snoring of the Mynheers from the different chambers, who 
answered one another in all kinds of tones and cadences, like so 
many bullfrogs in a swamp. The quieter the house became the 
more unquiet became my grandfather. He waxed warmer and 
warmer, until at length the bed became too hot to hold him. 

1 " Played the very," etc., i.e., annoyed him very much. 



5^ IVASIIIXCroX JRVIXG. 

" Maybe the maid had warmed it too much ? " said the curi- 
ous gentleman inquiringly. 

" I rather think the contrary," rephed the Irishman. " But, 
be that as it may, it grew too hot for my grandfather." 

" Faith, there's no standing this any longer," says he. So he 
jumped out of bed, and went strolling about the house. 

" What for ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 

''Why, to cool himself, to be sure — or perhaps to find a more 
comfortable bed — or perhaps — But no matter what he went 
for; he never mentioned, and there's no use in taking up our 
time in conjecturing." 

Well, my grandfather had been for some time absent from his 
room, and was returning, perfectly cool, when just as he reached 
the door he heard a strange noise within. He paused and lis- 
tened. It seemed as if some one were trying to hum a tune in 
defiance of the asthma. He recollected the report of the room 
being haunted ; but he was no believer in. ghosts, so he pushed 
the door gently open and peeped in. 

Egad, gentlemen, there was a gambol carrying on within 
enough to have astonished St. Anthony ^ himself. By the light 
of the fire he saw a pale, weazen-faced fellow, in a long flannel 
gown and a tall white nightcap with a tassel to it, who sat by 
the fire with a bellows under his arm by way of bagpipe, from 
which he forced the asthmatical music that had bothered my 
grandfather. As he played, too, he kept twitching about with 
a thousand queer contortions, nodding his head, and bobbing 
about his tasseled nightcap. 

My grandfather thought this very odd and mighty presumptu- 
ous, and was about to demand what business he had to play his 
wind instrument in another gentleman's quarters, when a new 
cause of astonishment met his eye. From the opposite side of the 
room, a long-backed, bandy-legged chair, covered with leather, 
and studded all over in a coxcombical fashion with litde brass 

1 St. Anthony (251-356) was the Egyptian founder of monachism, the doc- 
trine of a life of religious seclusion. 



■J ALES OF A TRAVELER. 57 

nails, got suddenly into motion, thrust out first a claw foot, then 
a crooked arm, and at length, making a leg, slid gracefully up 
to an easy-chair of tarnished brocade, with a hole in its bottom, 
and led it gallantly out in a ghostly minuet about the floor. 

The musician now played fiercer and fiercer, and bobbed his 
head and his nightcap about like mad. By degrees the dancing 
mania seemed to seize upon all the other pieces of furniture. 
The antique, long-bodied chairs paired off in couples and led 
down a country dance ; a three-legged stool danced a hornpipe, 
though horribly puzzled by its supernumerary limb ; while the 
amorous tongs seized the shovel round the waist, and whirled it 
about the room in a German waltz. In short, all the movables 
got in motion, pirouetting hands across, right and left, like so 
many devils ; all except a great clothespress, which kept courte- 
sying and courtesying in a corner, like a dowager, in exquisite 
time to the music, being rather too corpulent to dance, or per- 
haps at a loss for a partner. 

My grandfather concluded the latter to be the reason ; so being, 
like a true Irishman, devoted to the sex, and at all times ready 
for a frolic, he bounced into the room, called to the musician to 
strike up Paddy O'Rafferty,^ capered up to the clothespress, and 
seized upon the two handles to lead her out; when — whirr ! the 
whole revel was at an end. The chairs, tables, tongs, and shovel 
slunk in an instant as quietly into their places as if nothing had 
happened, and the musician vanished up the chimney, leaving the 
bellows behind him in his hurry. My grandfather found himself 
seated in the middle of the floor, with the clothespress sprawling 
before him, and the two handles jerked off, and in his hands. 

" Then, after all, this was a mere dream," said the inquisitive 
gentleman. 

" The divil a bit of a dream ! " replied the Irishman. ** There 
never was a truer fact in this world. Faith, I should have liked 
to see any man tell my grandfather it was a dream." 

Well, gentlemen, as the clothespress was a mighty heavy body, 

1 An old popular Irish tune. 



5« WASHINGTON IRVING. 

and my grandfather likewise, particularly in rear, you may easily 
suppose that two such heavy bodies coming to the ground 
would make a bit of a noise. Faith, the old mansion shook as 
though it had mistaken it for an earthquake. The whole garri- 
son was alarmed. The landlord, who slept below, hurried up 
with a candle to inquire the cause, but with all his haste his 
daughter had arrived at the scene of uproar before him. The 
landlord was followed by the landlady, who was followed by the 
bouncing barmaid, who was followed by the simpering chamber- 
maids, all holding together, as well as they could, such garments 
as they first laid hands on ; but all in a terrible hurry to see what 
the deuce was to pay in the chamber of the bold dragoon. 

My grandfather related the marvelous scene he had witnessed, 
and the broken handles of the prostrate clothespress bore testi- 
mony to the fact. There was no contesting such evidence ; par- 
ticularly with a lad of my grandfather's complexion, who seemed 
able to make good every word either with sword or shillalah.i 
So the landlord scratched his head and looked silly, as he was 
apt to do when puzzled. The landlady scratched — no, she did 
not scratch her head, but she knit her brow, and did not seem 
half pleased with the explanation. But the landlady's daughter 
corroborated it by recollecting that the last person who had dwelt 
in that chamber was a famous juggler, who died of St. Vitus's 
dance, 2 and had no doubt infected all the furniture. 

This set all things to rights, particularly when the chamber- 
maids declared that they had all witnessed strange carryings on 
in that room ; and as they declared this upon their honors, there 
could not remain a doubt upon this subject. 

" And did your grandfather go to bed again in that room ? " 
said the inquisitive gentleman. 

1 A cudgel, so called from Shillelagh, a place in Ireland famous for its oaks. 

2 St. Vitus's dance, or chorea, is a nervous disease marked by involuntary 
motions. It is called after St. Vitus, a Sicilian child martyr of the early part 
of the fourth century, who was believed to grant to his devotees relief from 
the dancing mania, which prevailed during the middle ages. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 59 

" That's more than I can tell. Where he passed the rest of 
the night was a secret he never disclosed. In fact, though he 
had seen much service, he was but indifferently acquainted with 
geography, and apt to make blunders in his travels about inns 
at night, which it would have puzzled him sadly to account for 
in the morning." 

" Was he ever apt to walk in his sleep ? " said the knowing old 
gentleman. 

" Never that I heard of." 

There was a little pause after this rigmarole Irish romance, 
when the old gentleman with the haunted head observed that 
the stories hitherto related had rather a burlesque tendency. ** I 
recollect an adventure, however," added he, "which I heard of 
during a residence at Paris, for the truth of which I can under- 
take to vouch, and which is of a very grave and singular nature." 



ADVENTURE OF THE GERMAN STUDENT. 

ON a stormy night, in the tempestuous times of the French 
Revolution, a young German was returning to his lodg- 
ings, at a late hour, across the old part of Paris. The hghtning 
gleamed, and the loud claps of thunder rattled through the lofty 
narrow streets — but I should first tell you something about this 
young German. 

Gottfried Wolfgang was a young man of good family. He 
had studied for some time at Gottingen,i but being of a vision- 
ary and enthusiastic character, he had wandered into those wild 
and speculative doctrines which have so often bewildered Ger- 
man students. His secluded life, his intense application, and 
the singular nature of his studies, had an effect on both mind 
and body. His health was impaired, his imagination diseased. 

1 A town of Hanover in Prussia. Its university, founded in 1734, was at 
one time the chief seat of learning in Germany. 



6o WASHIXGTON IRVIXG. 

He had been indulging in fanciful speculations on spiritual 
essences, until, like Swedenborg,i he had an ideal world of his 
own around him. He took up a notion, I do not know from 
what cause, that there was an evil influence hanging over him ; 
an evil genius or spirit seeking to insnare him and insure his 
perdition. Such an idea working on his melancholy tempera- 
ment produced the most gloomy effects. He became haggard 
and desponding. His friends discovered the mental malady prey- 
ing upon him, and determined that the best cure was a change 
of scene ; he was sent, therefore, to finish his studies amidst the 
splendors and gayeties of Paris. 

AVolfgang arrived at Paris at the breaking out of the revolu- 
tion. The popular delirium at first caught his enthusiastic mind, 
and he was captivated by the political and philosophical theories 
of the day ; but the scenes of blood which followed shocked his 
sensitive nature, disgusted him with society and the world, and 
made him more than ever a recluse. He shut himself up in a 
solitary apartment in the Pays Latin^ the quarter of students. 
There, in a gloomy street not far from the monastic walls of the 
Sorbonne,^ he pursued his favorite speculations. Sometimes he 
spent hours together in the great libraries of Paris, those cata- 
combs of departed authors, rummaging among their hoards of 
dusty and obsolete works in quest of food for his unhealthy 
appetite. He ^vas, in a manner, a literary ghoul, feeding in the 
charnel house of decayed literature. 

Wolfgang, though solitary and recluse, was of an ardent tem- 
perament, but for a time it operated merely upon his imagina- 

1 Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772), founder of the New Jerusalem 
Church, In his later life he lived entirely in a spiritual world, claiming to 
have direct intercourse with God, whose prophet he believed himself to be. 

2 Latin Quarter ; the name of a district of Paris at one time occupied 
almost exclusively by students. 

3 The Sorbonne, founded by Robert de Sorbon, confessor of Louis XL, 
was originally a theological college. The building is now occupied by the 
University of Paris. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 6i 

tion. He was too shy and ignorant of the world to make any 
advances to the fair, but he was a passionate admirer of female 
beauty, and in his lonely chamber would often lose himself in 
reveries on forms and faces which he had seen, and his fancy 
would deck out images of loveliness far surpassing the reality. 

While his mind w^as in this excited and sublimated state, a 
dream produced an extraordinary effect upon him. It was of a 
female face of transcendent beauty. So strong was the impres- 
sion made that he dreamed of it again and again. It haunted 
his thoughts by day, his slumbers by night ; in fine, he became 
passionately enamored of this shadow of a dream. This lasted 
so long that it became one of those fixed ideas which haunt the 
minds of melancholy men, and are at times mistaken for madness. 

Such was Gottfried Wolfgang, and such his situation at the 
time I mentioned. He was returning home late one stormy 
night, through some of the old and gloomy streets of the Marais} 
the ancient part of Paris. The loud claps of thunder rattled 
among the high houses of the narrow streets. He came to 
the Place de Greve,^ the sqtiare where public executions are 
performed. The lightning quivered about the pinnacles of the 
ancient Hotel de Ville,^ and shed flickering gleams over the 
open space in front. As Wolfgang was crossing the square, he 
shrank back with horror at finding himself close by the guillo- 
tine. It was the height of the reign of terror, when this dread- 
ful instrument of death stood ever ready, and its scaffold was 
continually running with the blood of the virtuous and the brave. 



1 The Marais Quarter was a gloomy, old-fashioned square of Paris, part 
of what is now known as the Place de Vosges. 

2 Place de Gr^ve, now known as the Place de 1' Hotel de Ville, has always 
been associated with dark cruelties. The stake, scaffold, and guillotine 
reigned there at various times. 

3 The Hotel de Ville, a marvel of architectural beauty, was completed in 
1628, and was the great townhall of Paris until destroyed by fire in 1871. 
It was the usual rallying place of the democratic party during the French re- 
volutions. 



62 WASHINGTON IRVING, 

It had that very day been actively employed in the work of car- 
nage, and there it stood in grim array, amidst a silent and sleep- 
ing city, waiting for fresh victims. 

Wolfgang's heart sickened within him, and he was turning 
shuddering from the horrible engine, when he beheld a shadowy 
form, cowering as it were at the foot of the steps which led up 
to the scaffold. A succession of vivid flashes of lightning re- 
vealed it more distinctly. It was a female figure, dressed in 
black. She was seated on one of the lower steps of the scaffold, 
leaning forward, her face hid in her lap ; and her long disheveled 
tresses, hanging to the ground, streaming with the rain, which fell 
in torrents. Wolfgang paused. There was something awful in 
this solitary monument of woe. The female had the appearance 
of being above the common order. He knew the times to be 
full of vicissitude, and that many a fair head, which had once 
been pillowed on down, now wandered houseless. Perhaps this 
was some poor mourner whom the dreadful ax had rendered 
desolate, and who sat here heartbroken on the strand of exist- 
ence, from which all that was dear to her had been launched 
into eternity. 

He approached, and addressed her in the accents of sympathy. 
She raised her head and gazed wildly at him. What was his 
astonishment at beholding, by the bright glare of the hghtning, 
the very face which had haunted him in his dreams. It was 
pale and disconsolate, but ravishingly beautiful. 

Trembhng with violent and conflicting emotions, Wolfgang 
again accosted her. He spoke something of her being exposed 
at such an hour of the night, and to the fury of such a storm, 
and offered to conduct her to her friends. She pointed to the 
guillotine with a gesture of dreadful signification. 

" I have no friend on earth ! " said she. 

" But you have a home," said Wolfgang. 

" Yes — in the grave ! " 

The heart of the student melted at the words. 

" If a stranger dare make an offer," said he, " without danger 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 63 

of being misunderstood, I would offer my humble dwelling as a 
shelter; myself as a devoted friend. I am friendless myself in 
Paris, and a stranger in the land; but if my hfe could be of ser- 
vice, it is at your disposal, and should be sacrificed before harm 
or indignity should come to you." 

There was an honest earnestness in the young man's manner 
that had its effect. His foreign accent, too, was in his favor ; it 
showed him not to be a hackneyed inhabitant of Paris. Indeed, 
there is an eloquence in true enthusiasm that is not to be doubted. 
The homeless stranger confided herself implicitly to the protec- 
tion of the student. 

He supported her faltering steps across the Pont Neuf,i and 
by the place where the statue of Henry IV. had been overthrown 
by the populace. The storm had abated, and the thunder rum- 
bled at a distance. All Paris was quiet ; that great volcano of 
human passion slumbered for a while, to gather fresh strength 
for the next day's eruption. The student conducted his charge 
through the ancient streets of the Pays Latin^ and by the dusky 
walls of the Sorbonne, to the great dingy hotel which he inhabited. 
The old portress who admitted them stared with surprise at the un- 
usual sight of the melancholy Wolfgang with a female companion. 

On entering his apartment, the student, for the first time, 
blushed at the scantiness and indifference of his dweUing. He 
had but one chamber, an old-fashioned salon, heavily carved, 
and fantastically furnished with the remains of former magnifi- 
cence ; for it was one of those hotels in the quarter of the Lux- 
embourg Palace - which had once belonged to nobility. It was 
lumbered with books and papers, and all the usual apparatus of 
a student, and his bed stood in a recess at one end. 

1 A bridge across the Seine. On it stands a statue of Henry IV., erected 
to replace one which had stood there from 1635 to 1791, when it was knocked 
down by the populace and converted into pieces of ordnance. 

2 One of the most magnificent palaces in Paris, erected in 1615. During 
the French Revolution it was converted into a prison for the confinement of 
noble families. 



64 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

When lights were brought, and Wolfgang had a better oppor- 
tunity of contemplating the stranger, he was more than ever in- 
toxicated by her beauty. Her face was pale, but of a dazzling 
fairness, set off by a profusion of raven hair that hung cluster- 
ing about it. Her eyes were large and brilliant, with a singular 
expression approaching almost to wildness. As far as her black 
dress permitted her shape to be seen, it was of perfect symme- 
try. Her whole appearance was highly striking, though she was 
dressed in the simplest style. The only thing approaching to 
an ornament which she wore was a broad black band round her 
neck, clasped by diamonds. 

The perplexity now commenced with the student how to dis- 
pose of the helpless being thus thrown upon his protection. He 
thought of abandoning his chamber to her, and seeking shelter 
for himself elsewhere. Still, he was so fascinated by her charms, 
there seemed to be such a spell upon his thoughts and senses, 
that he could not tear himself from her presence. Her manner, 
too, was singular and unaccountable. She spoke no more of the 
guillotine. Her grief had abated. The attentions of the student 
had first won her confidence, and then, apparently, her heart. 
She was evidently an enthusiast like himself, and enthusiasts soon 
understand each other. 

In the infatuation of the moment Wolfgang avowed his pas- 
sion for her. He told her the story of his mysterious dream, 
and how she had possessed his heart before he had even seen 
her. She was strangely affected by his recital, and acknowledged 
to have felt an impulse towards him equally unaccountable. It 
was the time for wild theory and wild actions. Old prejudices 
and superstitions were done away ; everything was under the sway 
of the *' Goddess of Reason." ^ i\mong other rubbish of the old 
times, the forms and ceremonies of marriage began to be consid- 
ered superfluous bonds for honorable minds. Social compacts 

1 In the subversion of all existing institutions during the French Revolu- 
tion, the worship of human reason, personified as the Goddess of Reason, 
was instituted as a new religion. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 65 

were the vogue. Wolfgang was too much of a theorist not to be 
tainted by the hberal doctrines of the day. 

" Why should we separate ? " said he. *' Our hearts are united ; 
in the eye of reason and honor we are as one. What need is 
there of sordid forms to bind high souls together ? " 

The stranger listened with emotion ; she had evidently received 
illumination at the same school. 

"You have no home nor family," continued he; "let me be 
everything to you ; or rather, let us be everything to one another. 
If form is necessary, form shall be observed, — there is my hand. 
I pledge myself to you forever." 

" Forever ? " said the stranger solemnly. 

" Forever ! " repeated Wolfgang. 

The stranger clasped the hand extended to her. " Then I am 
yours," murmured she, and sank upon his bosom. 

The next morning the student left his bride sleeping, and sallied 
forth at an early hour to seek more spacious apartments suitable 
to the change in his situation. When he returned, he found the 
stranger lying with her head hanging over the bed, and one arm 
thrown over it. He spoke to her, but received no reply. He 
advanced to awaken her from her uneasy posture. On taking 
her hand it was cold — there was no pulsation — her face was 
pallid and ghastly. In a word, she was a corpse. 

Horrified and frantic, he alarmed the house. A scene of con- 
fusion ensued. The police was summoned. As the oflScer of 
police entered the room, he started back on beholding the corpse. 

" Great heaven ! " cried he, " how did this woman come 
here ? " 

" Do you know anything about her ? "said Wolfgang eagerly. 

" Do I ? " exclaimed the officer; "she was guillotined yester- 
day." 

He stepped forward, undid the black collar round the neck 
of the corpse, and the head rolled on the floor ! 

The student burst into a frenzy. " The fiend ! the fiend has 
gained possession of me !" shrieked he. " I am lost forever." 
5 



66 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

They tried to soothe him, but in vain. He was possessed with 
the frightful behef that an evil spirit had reanimated the dead body 
to insnare him. He went distracted, and died in a madhouse. 

Here the old gentleman with the haunted head finished his 
narrative. 

" And is this really a fact ? " said the inquisitive gentleman. 

" A fact not to be doubted," replied the other. " I had it from 
the best authority. The student told it me himself. I saw him 
in a madhouse in Paris." 



ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS PICTURE. 

AS one story of the kind produces another, and as all the 
±\. company seemed fully engrossed with the subject, and dis- 
posed to bring their relatives and ancestors upon the scene, there 
is no knowing how many more strange adventures we might have 
heard, had not a corpulent old fox hunter, who had slept soundly 
through the whole, now suddenly awakened, with a loud and 
long-drawn yawn. The sound broke the charm ; the ghosts took 
to flight, as though it had been cockcrowing,i and there was a 
universal move for bed. 

" And now for the haunted chamber," said the Irish captain, 
taking his candle. 

*' Ay, who's to be the hero of the night ? " said the gentleman 
with the ruined head. 

" That we shall see in the morning," said the old gentleman 
with the nose. " Whoever looks pale and grizzly will have seen 
the ghost." 

" Well, gendemen," said the Baronet, " there's many a true thing 
said in jest ; in fact, one of you will sleep in the room to-night." 

" What! — a haunted room ? — a haunted room? I claim the 

1 The time at which cocks begin to crow; i.e., the dawn of clay, when 
ghosts were always supposed to disappear. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. by 

adventure — and I — and I — and I," said a dozen guests, talking 
and laughing at the same time. 

" No, no," said mine host, "there is a secret about one of my 
rooms on which I feel disposed to try an experiment ; so, gentle- 
men, none of you shall know who has the haunted chamber until 
circumstances reveal it. I will not even know it myself, but will 
leave it to chance and the allotment of the housekeeper. At the 
same time, if it will be any satisfaction to you, I will observe, for 
the honor of my paternal mansion, that there's scarcely a cham- 
ber in it but is well worthy of being haunted." 

We now separated for the night, and each went to his allotted 
room. Mine was in one wing of the building, and I could not 
but smile at its resemblance in style to those eventful apartments 
described in the tales of the supper table. It was spacious and 
gloomy, decorated with lampblack portraits, a bed of ancient 
damask, with a tester ^ sufficiently lofty to grace a couch of state, 
and a number of massive pieces of old-fashioned furniture. I 
drew a great claw-footed armchair before the wide fireplace ; 
stirred up the fire ; sat looking into it, and musing upon the odd 
stories I had heard, until, partly overcome by the fatigue of the 
day's hunting, and partly by the wine and wassail of mine host, 
I fell asleep in my chair. 

The uneasiness of my position made my slumber troubled, 
and laid me at the mercy of all kinds of wild and fearful dreams. 
Now it was that my perfidious dinner and supper rose in rebellion 
against my peace. I was hag-ridden ^ by a fat saddle of mutton ; 
a plum pudding weighed like lead upon my conscience ; the merry 
thought of a capon filled me with horrible suggestions ; and a 
deviled leg of a turkey stalked in all kinds of diabolical shapes 
through my imagination. In short, I had a violent fit of the 
nightmare. Some strange, indefinite evil seemed hanging over 
me, which I could not avert ; something terrible and loathsome op- 
pressed, me which I could not shake off. I was conscious of being 

1 Canopy over a bed. 

2 Ridden by a hag or witch ; hence, afflicted with nightmare. 



68 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

asleep, and strove to rouse myself, but every effort redoubled 
the evil ; until gasping, struggling, almost strangling, I suddenly 
sprang bolt upright in my chair, and awoke. 

The light on the mantelpiece had burned low, and the wick was 
divided ; there was a great winding sheet made by the dripping 
wax on the side towards me. The disordered taper emitted a 
broad, flaring flame, and threw a strong light on a painting over 
the fireplace which I had not hitherto observed. It consisted 
merely of a head, or rather a face, staring full upon me, with an 
expression that was startling. It was without a frame, and at 
the first glance I could hardly persuade myself that it was not a 
real face thrusting itself out of the dark oaken panel. I sat in my 
chair gazing at it, and the more I gazed the more it disquieted 
me. I had never before been affected in the same way by anv 
painting. The emotions it caused were strange and indefinite. 
They were something like what I have heard ascribed to the 
eyes of the basilisk, or like that mysterious influence in reptiles 
termed fascination. I passed my hand over my eyes several 
times, as if seeking instinctively to brush away the illusion, — in 
vain. They instantly reverted to the picture, and its chilling, 
creeping influence over my flesh and blood was redoubled. I 
looked round the room on other pictures, either to divert my 
attention, or to see whether the same effect would be produced 
by them. Some of them were grim enough to produce the effect, 
if the mere grimness of the painting produced it. No such thing ; 
my eye passed over them all with perfect indifference, but the 
moment it reverted to this visage over the fireplace, it was as if 
an electric shock darted through me. The other pictures were 
dim and faded, but this one protruded from a plain background in 
the strongest rehef, and with wonderful truth of coloring. The 
expression was that of agony, — the agony of intense bodily pain ; 
but a menace scowled upon the brow, and a few sprinklings of 
blood added to its ghastliness. Yet it was not all these character- 
istics ; it was some horror of the mind, some inscrutable antipathy 
awakened by this pictiu-e, which harrowed up my feelings. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 69 

I tried to persuade myself that this was chimerical ; that my 
brain was confused by the fumes of mine host's good cheer, and 
in some measure by the odd stories about paintings which had 
been told at supper. I determined to shake off these vapors of 
the mind ; rose from my chair ; walked about the room ; snapped 
my fingers ; rallied myself ; laughed aloud. It was a forced laugh, 
and the echo of it in the old chamber jarred upon my ear. I 
walked to the window, and tried to discern the landscape through 
the glass. It was pitch darkness, and a howhng storm without, 
and as I heard the wind moan among the trees, I caught a reflec- 
tion of this accursed visage in the pane of glass, as though it were 
staring through the window at me. Even the reflection of it was 
thrilling. 

How was this vile nervous fit — for such I now persuaded my- 
self it was — to be conquered? I determined to force myself not 
to look at the painting, but to undress quickly and get into bed. 
I began to undress, but in spite of every effort, I could not keep 
myself from stealing a glance every now and then at the pictiu^e ; 
and a glance was sufficient to distress me. Even when my back 
was turned to it, the idea of this strange face behind me, peep- 
ing over my shoulder, was insupportable. I threw off my clothes 
and hurried into bed, but still this visage gazed upon me. I had 
a full view of it in my bed, and for some time could not take my 
eyes from it. I had grown nervous to a dismal degree. I put 
out the Hght, and tried to force myself to sleep — all in vain. 
The fire, gleaming up a little, threw an uncertain light about the 
room, leaving, however, the region of the picture in deep shadow. 
What, thought I, if this be the chamber about which mine host 
spoke, as having a mystery reigning over it ? I had taken his 
words merely as spoken in jest ; might they have a real import ? 
I looked around. The faintly lighted apartment had all the quali- 
fications requisite for a haunted chamber. It began in my in- 
fected imagination to assume strange appearances ; the old por- 
traits turned paler and paler, and blacker and blacker ; the streaks 
of hght and shadow thrown among the quaint articles of furniture 



70 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

gave them more singular shapes and characters. There was a 
huge, dark clothespress of antique form, gorgeous in brass and 
lustrous with wax, that began to grow oppressive to me. 

"Am I, then," thought I, "indeed the hero of the haunted 
room ? Is there really a spell laid upon me, or is this all some 
contrivance of mine host to raise a laugh at my expense ? " The 
idea of being hag-ridden by my own fancy all night, and then 
bantered on my haggard looks the next day, was intolerable ; but 
the very idea was sufficient to produce the effect, and to render 
me still more nen-ous. " Pish ! " said I, " it can be no such thing. 
How could my worthy host imagine that I, or any man, would 
be so worried by a mere picture ? It is my own diseased imagi- 
nation that torments me." 

I turned in bed, and shifted from side to side, to try to fall 
asleep ; but all in vain. When one cannot get asleep by lying 
quiet, it is seldom that tossing about wnll effect the purpose. 
The fire gradually went out, and left the room in total darkness. 
Still I had the idea of that inexplicable countenance gazing and 
keeping watch upon me through the gloom ; nay, what was 
worse, the very darkness seemed to magnify its terrors. It was 
like having an unseen enemv hanging about one in the night. 
Instead of having one picture now to worry me, I had a hun- 
dred. I fancied it in ever\' direction. " There it is," thought I, 
'' and there ! and there I with its horrible and mysterious expres- 
sion still gazing and gazing on me ! Xo ; if I must suffer the 
strange and dismal influence, it were better face a single foe 
than thus be haunted by a thousand images of it." 

Whoever has been in a state of nervous agitation must know 
that the longer it continues the more uncontrollable it grows. 
The very air of the chamber seemed at length infected by the 
baleful presence of this picture. I fancied it hovering over me. 
I almost felt the fearful visage from the wall approaching my 
face ; it seemed breathing upon me. " This is not to be borne," 
said I at length, springing out of bed. " I can stand this no 
longer ; I shall only tumble and toss about here all night, make 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 71 

a very specter of myself, and become the hero of the haunted 
chamber in good earnest. Whatever be the ill consequences, I'll 
quit this cursed room and seek a night's rest elsewhere. They 
can but laugh at me, at all events, and they'll be sure to have the 
laugh upon me if I pass a sleepless night, and show them a 
haggard and woe-begone visage in the morning." 

All this was half muttered to myself as I hastily slipped on 
my clothes, which having done, I groped my way out of the room 
and downstairs to the drawing-room. Here, after tumbling over 
two or three pieces of furniture, I made out to reach a sofa, and 
stretching myself upon it, determined to bivouac there for the 
night. The moment I found myself out of the neighborhood of 
that strange picture, it seemed as if the charm were broken. All 
its influence was at an end. I felt assured that it was confined to 
its own dreary chamber, for I had, with a sort of instinctive cau- 
tion, turned the key when I closed the door. I soon calmed 
down, therefore, into a state of tranquillity ; from that into a 
drowsiness ; and finally into a deep sleep, out of which I did 
not awake until the housemaid, with her besom ^ and her matin 
song, came to put the room in order. She stared at finding me 
stretched upon the sofa, but I presume circumstances of the kind 
were not uncommon after hunting dinners in her master's bachelor 
establishment, for she went on with her song and her work, and 
took no further heed of me. 

I had an unconquerable repugnance to return to my chamber ; 
so I found my way to the butler's quarters, made my toilet in 
the best way circumstances would permit, and was among the 
first to appear at the breakfast table. Our breakfast was a sub- 
stantial fox hunter's repast, and the company generally assembled 
at it. When ample justice had been done to the tea, coflfee, cold 
meats, and humming ale — for all these were furnished in abun- 
dance, according to the tastes of the different guests — the con- 
versation began to break out with all the liveliness and freshness 
of morning mirth. 

1 Broom. 



72 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

** But who is the hero of the haunted chamber ? who has seen 
the ghost last night ? " said the inquisitive gentleman, rolling his 
lobster eyes about the table. 

The question set every tongue in motion ; a vast deal of ban- 
tering, criticising of countenances, of mutual accusation and re- 
tort, took place. Some had drunk deep, and some were unshaven, 
so that there were suspicious faces enough in the assembly. I 
alone could not enter with ease and vivacity into the joke ; I felt 
tongue-tied, embarrassed. A recollection of what I had seen and 
felt the preceding night still haunted my mind. It seemed as 
if the mysterious picture still held a thrall upon me. I thought 
also that our host's eye was turned on me with an air of curi- 
osity. In short, I was conscious that I was the hero of the night, 
and felt as if every one might read it in my looks. The joke, 
however, passed over, and no suspicion seemed to attach to me. 
I was just congratulating myself on my escape, when a ser\-ant 
came in, saying that the gentleman who had slept on the sofa in 
the drawing-room had left his watch under one of the pillows. 
My repeater was in his hand. 

" What ! " said the inquisitive gentleman, " did any gentleman 
sleep on the sofa ? " 

" Soho, soho ! a hare, a hare ! " ^ cried the old gentleman with 
the flexible nose. 

I could not avoid acknowledging the watch, and was rising in 
great confusion, when a boisterous old squire who sat beside me 
exclaimed, slapping me on the shoulder, " 'Sblood, lad, thou art 
the man as has seen the ghost ! " 

The attention of the company was immediately turned on me. 
If my face had been pale the moment before, it now glowed 
almost to burning. I tried to laugh, but could only make a 
grimace, and found the muscles of my face twitching at sixes 
and sevens,^ and totally out of all control. 

It takes but httle to raise a laugh among a set of fox hunters. 

1 A sportsman's cry on the discovery of a hare. 

2 "At sixes and sevens," i.e., in confusion. 



TALES OF A TRA\'ELEK. 73 

There was a world of merriment and joking on the subject, and 
as I never relished a joke overmuch when it was at my own ex- 
pense, I began to feel a little nettled. I tried to look cool and 
calm, and to restrain my pique ; but the coolness and calmness 
of a man in a passion are confounded ^ treacherous. 

" Gentlemen," said I, with a shght cocking of the chin and a 
bad attempt at a smile, "this is all very pleasant — ha, ha ! — 
very pleasant ; but I'd have you know, I am as little superstitious 
as any of you — ha, ha ! — and as to anything like timidity — 
you may smile, gentlemen, but I trust there's no one here means 
to insinuate that — as to a room's being haunted — I repeat, 
gentlemen [growing a little warm at seeing a cursed grin break- 
ing out round mej, as to a room's being haunted, I have as little 
faith in such silly stories as any one. But, since you put the 
matter home to me, I will say that I have met with something 
in my room strange and inexplicable to me. [A shout of laugh- 
ter.] Gentlemen, I am serious ; I know well what I am saying ; 
I am calm, gentlemen [striking my fist upon the table], by Heaven, 
I am calm ! I am neither trifling, nor do I wish to be trifled with. 
[The laughter of the company suppressed, and with ludicrous 
attempts at gravity.] There is a picture in the room in which 
I was put last night that has had an effect upon me the most 
singular and incomprehensible." 

"A picture ? " said the old gentleman with the haunted head. 
" A picture I " cried the narrator with the nose. " A picture ! a 
picture ! " echoed several voices. Here there was an ungovern- 
able peal of laughter. I could not contain myself. I started up 
from my seat, looked round on the company with fiery indigna- 
tion, thrust both of my hands into my pockets, and strode up 
to one of the windows as though I would have walked through 
it. I stopped short, looked out upon the landscape without dis- 
tinguishing a feature of it, and felt my gorge- rising almost to 
suffocation. 

Mine host saw it was time to interfere. He had maintained an 

1 Confoundedly ; extremely. 2 Indignation. 



74 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

air of gravity through the whole of the scene ; and now stepped 
forth, as if to shelter me from the overwhelming merriment of 
my companions. 

" Gentlemen," said he, " I dislike to spoil sport, but you have 
had your laugh, and the joke of the haunted chamber has been 
enjoyed. I must now take the part of my guest. I must not 
only vindicate him from your pleasantries, but I must reconcile 
him to himself, for I suspect he is a little out of humor with his 
own feehngs ; and, above all, I must crave his pardon for hav- 
ing made him the subject of a kind of experiment. Yes, gentle- 
men, there is something strange and peculiar in the chamber to 
w^hich our friend was shown last night ; there is a picture in my 
house which possesses a singular and mysterious influence, and 
with which there is connected a very curious story. It is a pic- 
ture to which I attach a value from a variety of circumstances ; 
and though I have often been tempted to destroy it, from the 
odd and uncomfortable sensations which it produces in every 
one that beholds it, yet I have never been able to prevail upon 
myself to make the sacrifice. It is a picture I never like to look 
upon myself, and which is held in awe by all my servants. I 
have therefore banished it to a room but rarely used, and should 
have had it covered last night, had not the nature of our conversa- 
tion, and the whimsical talk about a haunted chamber, tempted 
me to let it remain, by way of experiment, to see whether a 
stranger, totally unacquainted with its story, would be affected 
by it." 

The words of the Baronet had turned every thought into a 
different channel. All were anxious to hear the story of the 
mysterious picture ; and, for myself, so strangely were my feel- 
ings interested, that I forgot to feel piqued at the experiment 
my host had made upon my nerves, and joined eagerly in the 
general entreaty. As the morning was stormy, and denied all 
egress, my host was glad of any means of entertaining his com- 
pany ; so, drawing his armchair towards the fire, he began. 



M 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 75 

ADVENTURE OF THE MYSTERIOUS 
STRANGER. 

ANY years since, when I was a young man, and had just 
left Oxford, I was sent on the grand tour to finish my 
education. I beheve my parents had tried in vain to inoculate 
me with wisdom ; so they sent me to mingle with society, in 
hopes that I might take it the natural way. Such, at least, 
appears the reason for which nine tenths of our youngsters are 
sent abroad. 

In the course of my tour I remained some time at Venice. 
The romantic character of that place delighted me ; I was very 
much amused by the air of adventure and intrigue prevalent in 
this region of masks and gondolas ; and I was exceedingly smitten 
by a pair of languishing black eyes, that played upon my heart 
from under an Italian mantle ; so I persuaded myself that I was 
lingering at Venice to study men and manners ; at least I per- 
suaded my friends so, and that answered all my purposes. 

I was a little prone to be struck by peculiarities in character 
and conduct, and my imagination was so full of romantic asso- 
ciations with Italy that I was ahvays on the lookout for adven- 
ture. Everything chimed in with such a humor in this old 
mermaid of a city. My suite of apartments were in a proud, 
melancholy palace on the Grand Canal, formerly the residence 
of a magnifico,! and sumptuous with the traces of decayed gran- 
deur. My gondolier was one of the shrewdest of his class, active, 
merry, intelligent, and, like his brethren, secret as the grave ; that 
is to say, secret to all the world except his master. I had not 
had him a week before he put me behind all the curtains in Ven- 
ice.- I Hked the silence and mystery of the place, and when I 

1 A nobleman or grandee of Venice, so called in courtesy. 

2 " Put me behind," etc., i.e., told me all the secrets and private affairs of 
the people of Venice. 



76 WASHINGTOX IRVJXG. 

sometimes saw from my window a black gondola gliding mysteri- 
ously along in the dusk of the evening, with nothing visible but 
its little glimmering lantern, I would jump into my own zendeletta,' 
and give a signal for pursuit. " But I am running away from 
my subject with the recollection of youthful follies," said the 
Baronet, checking himself. " Let us come to the point." 

Among my familiar resorts was a cassino under the arcades on 
one side of the grand Square of St. Mark.- Here I used fre- 
quently to lounge and take my ice, on those w^arm summer nights 
when, in Italy, everybody lives abroad until morning. I was 
seated here one evening when a group of Italians took their seats 
at a table on the opposite side of the saloon. Their conversation 
was gay and animated, and carried on with Italian ^■ivacity and 
gesticulation. I remarked among them one young man, how- 
ever, who appeared to take no share and find no enjoyment in 
the conversation, though he seemed to force himself to attend 
to it. He was tall and slender, and of extremely prepossessing 
appearance. His features were fine, though emaciated. He had 
a profusion of black glossy hair, that curled lightly about his 
head, and contrasted with the extreme paleness of his counte- 
nance. His brow was haggard ; deep furrows seemed to have 
been plowed into his visage by care, not by age, for he was 
evidently in the prime of youth. His eye was full of expression 
and fire, but wild and unsteady. He seemed to be tormented 
by some strange fancy or apprehension. In spite of every^ effort 
to fix his attention on the conversation of his companions, I 
noticed that every now and then he would turn his head slowly 
round, give a glance over his shoulder, and then withdraw it with 
a sudden jerk, as if something painful met his eye. This was 
repeated at intervals of about a minute, and he appeared hardly 

1 Small boat. 

2 The Square of St. Mark, or Piazza di San Marco, the principal promenade 
of Venice, is nearly surrounded by the sea. Magnificent churches and palaces 
occupy the square, and around it extends a vast gallery containing many 
elegant shops and cafes. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 77 

to have recovered from one shock before I saw him slowly pre- 
paring to encounter another. 

After sitting some time in the cassino, the party paid for the 
refreshment they had taken, and departed. The young man was 
the last to leave the saloon, and I remarked him glancing behind 
him in the same way, just as he passed out of the door. I could 
not resist the impulse to rise and follow him ; for I was at an age 
when a romantic feehng of curiosity is easily awakened. The 
party walked slowly down the arcades, talking and laughing as 
they went. They crossed the Piazzetta,i but paused in the middle 
of it to enjoy the scene. It was one of those moonlight nights, 
so brilliant and clear in the pure atmosphere of Italy. The 
moonbeams streamed on the tall tower ^ of St. Mark, and lighted 
up the magnificent front and swelling domes of the cathedral.^ 
The party expressed their delight in animated terms. I kept my 
eye upon the young man. He alone seemed abstracted and self- 
occupied. I noticed the same singular and, as it were, furtive, 
glance over the shoulder which had attracted my attention in 
the cassino. The party moved on, and I followed. They passed 
along the walk called the BrogHo, turned the corner of the Ducal 
Palace,* and getting into the gondola, glided swiftly away. 

The countenance and conduct of this young man dwelt upon 
my mind, and interested me exceedingly. I met him a day or 
two afterwards in a gallery of paintings. He was evidently a 
connoisseur, for he always singled out the most masterly produc- 
tions, and a few remarks drawn from him by his companions 
showed an intimate acquaintance with the art. His own taste, 

1 The Piazzetta (" small square") runs at right angles from the southeast 
corner of the Piazza of St. Mark to the Grand Canal. 

2 The famous clock tower of the Square of St. Mark, which has on its face 
a dial resplendent with gold. It was built in 1494 and restored in 1859. 

3 The St. Mark Cathedral, one of the most magnificent in the world. 

4 The Ducal Palace, or Palace of the Doges, is a magnificent structure, 
first built in 800. It has been destroyed five times, and each time restored 
with greater splendor. The Broglio is the lower gallery, or piazza, under 
the Ducal Palace. 



78 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

however, ran on singular extremes ; on Salvator Rosa,i in his 
most savage and soHtary scenes ; on Raphael, ^ Titian, ^ and Cor- 
reggio,^ in their softest delineations of female beauty ; on these 
he would occasionally gaze with transient enthusiasm. But this 
seemed only a momentary forgetfulness. Still would recur that 
cautious glance behind, and always quickly withdrawn, as though 
something terrible met his view. 

I encountered him frequently afterwards at the theater, at 
balls, at concerts ; at promenades in the gardens of San Georgio ;- 
at the grotesque exhibitions in the Square of St. Mark ; among 
the throng of merchants on the exchange by the Rialto.^ He 
seemed, in fact, to seek crowds ; to hunt after bustle and amuse- 
ment ; yet never to take any interest in either the business or the 
gayety of the scene. Ever an air of painful thought, of wTetched 
abstraction ; and ever that strange and recurring movement of 
glancing fearfully over the shoulder. I did not know at first but 
this might be caused by apprehension of arrest ; or, perhaps, from 
dread of assassination. But if so, why should he go thus continu- 
ally abroad ? Why expose himself at all times and in all places ? 

I became anxious to know this stranger. I was drawn to him 
by that romantic sympathy which sometimes draws young men 
towards each other. His melancholy threw a charm about him, 
no doubt heightened by the touching expression of his counte- 

1 Salvator Rosa was a renowned Italian painter (1615-73) of the Nea- 
politan school. He had a special skill in depicting strange, wild, turbulent 
scenes. Sanzio Raphael (1483-1520), an eminent Italian painter, spent much 
time in decorating churches and altars, and is especially famed for his pic- 
tures of the Madonna and the Holy Family. Titian, or Tiziano Vecellio 
(1477-1576), a celebrated Venetian painter, called " the divine one," excelled 
chiefly in the depth and beauty of his coloring. Antonio Allegri da Correggio 
(1494-1534), a great Italian painter, painted many types of female loveliness. 

2 One of the islands in the southern part of Venice, on which is situated 
the beautiful church of San Georgio Maggiore. 

3 An island on one side of the Grand Canal of Venice. It is the site 
on which Venice as a city first existed. It is a central point of trade and 
commerce. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 79 

nance, and the manly graces of his person ; for manly beauty has 
its effect even upon men. I had an Englishman's habitual diffi- 
dence and awkwardness to contend with ; but from frequently 
meeting him in the cassinos, I gradually edged myself into his 
acquaintance. I had no reserve on his part to contend with. 
He seemed, on the contrary, to court society ; and, in fact, to 
seek anything rather than be alone. 

When he found that I really took an interest in him, he threw 
himself entirely on my friendship. He clung to me like a drown- 
ing man. He would walk with me for hours up and down the 
Place of St. Mark ; or would sit, until night was far advanced, 
in my apartments. He took rooms under the same roof with, 
me ; and his constant request was that I would permit him, when 
it did not incommode me, to sit by me in my saloon. It was 
not that he seemed to take a particular delight in my conversa- 
tion, but rather that he craved the vicinity of a human being, 
and, above all, of a being that sympathized with him. " I have 
often heard," said he, " of the sincerity of Englishmen ; thank 
God I have one at length for a friend ! " 

Yet he never seemed disposed to avail himself of my sympathy 
other than by mere companionship. He never sought to unbosom 
himself to me. There appeared to be a settled, corroding anguish 
in his bosom that neither could be soothed " by silence nor by 
speaking." 

A devouring melancholy preyed upon his heart, and seemed 
to be drying up the very blood in his veins. It was not a soft 
melancholy, the disease of the affections, but a parching, wither- 
ing agony. I could see at times that his mouth was dry and 
feverish ; he panted rather than breathed ; his eyes were blood- 
shot ; his cheeks pale and livid, with now and then faint streaks of 
red athwart them, — baleful gleams of the fire that was consum- 
ing his heart. As my arm was within his, I felt him press it at 
times with a convulsive motion to his side ; his hands would 
clinch themselves involuntarily, and a kind of shudder would run 
through his frame. 



8o WASHINGTON IRVING. 

I reasoned with him about his melancholy ; sought to drav/ 
from him the cause ; he shrunk from all confiding. "Do not 
seek to know it," said he ; " you could not reheve it if you knew 
it ; you would not even seek to relieve it. On the contrary, I 
should lose your sympathy, and that," said he, pressing my hand 
convulsively, "that I feel has become too dear to me to risk." 

I endeavored to awaken hope within him. He was young ; 
life had a thousand pleasures in store for him ; there was a 
healthy reaction in the youthful heart ; it medicines ^ all its own 
w^ounds. " Come, come," said I, " there is no grief so great that 
youth cannot outgrow it." " No ! no ! " said he, clinching his 
teeth, and striking repeatedly, wath the energy of despair, on his 
bosom, " it is here ! here ! deep rooted ; draining my heart's blood. 
It grows and grows, while my heart withers and withers. I have a 
dreadful monitor that gives me no repose — that follows me step 
by step — and will follow me step by step, until it pushes me into 
my grave ! " 

As he said this he involuntarily gave one of those fearful 
glances over his shoulder, and shrunk back with more than usual 
horror. I could not resist the temptation to allude to this move- 
ment, which I supposed to be some mere malady of the nerves. 
The moment I mentioned it, his face became crimsoned and 
convulsed ; he grasped me by both hands. 

" For God's sake," exclaimed he, with a piercing voice, " never 
allude to that again. Let us avoid this subject, my friend ; you 
cannot relieve me, — indeed you cannot relieve me, but you may 
add to the torments I suffer. At some future day you shall 
know all." 

I never resumed the subject ; for however much my curiosity 
might be roused, I felt too true a compassion for his sufferings 
to increase them by my intrusion. I sought various ways to 
divert his mind, and to arouse him from the constant meditations 
in which he was plunged. He saw my efforts, and seconded 
them as far as was in his power, for there was nothing moody 

1 Cures. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 8 1 

or wayward in his nature. On the contrary, there was something 
frank, generous, unassuming, in his whole deportment. All the 
sentiments he uttered were noble and lofty. He claimed no in- 
dulgence, asked no toleration, but seemed content to carry his 
load of misery in silence, and only sought to carry it by my side. 
There was a mute, beseeching manner about him, as if he craved 
companionship as a charitable boon ; and a tacit thankfulness in 
his looks, as if he felt grateful to me for not repulsing him. 

I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It stole over my spirits, 
interfered with all my gay pursuits, and gradually saddened my 
life ; yet I could not prevail upon myself to shake off a being 
who seemed to hang upon me for support. In truth, the gener- 
ous traits of character which beamed through all his gloom pene- 
trated to my heart. His bounty was lavish and open-handed ; 
his charity, melting and spontaneous, not confined to mere dona- 
tions, which humiliate as much as they relieve. The tone of his 
voice, the beam of his eye, enhanced every gift, and surprised the 
poor suppliant with that rarest and sweetest of charities, — the 
charity not merely of the hand, but of the heart. Indeed his 
liberahty seemed to have something in it of self-abasement and 
expiation. He, in a manner, humbled himself before the mendi- 
cant. " What right have I to ease and affluence," would he mur- 
mur to himself, " when innocence wanders in misery and rags ? " 

The carnival ^ time arrived. I hoped the gay scenes then 
presented might have some cheering effect. I mingled with him 
in the motley throng that crowded the Place of St. Mark. We 
frequented operas, masquerades, balls, — all in vain. The evil 
kept growing on him. He became more and more haggard and 
agitated. Often, after we had returned from one of these scenes 
of revelr^% I have entered his room and found him lying on 
his face on the sofa, his hands clinched in his fine hair, and his 
whole countenance bearing traces of the convulsions of his mind. 

The carnival passed away ; the time of Lent succeeded ; pas- 

1 A festival celebrated with merriment and revelry in Roman Catholic 
countries during the week before Lent. 



82 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

sion week arrived. We attended one evening a solemn service in 
one of the churches, in the course of which a grand piece of 
vocal and instrumental music was performed relating to the death 
of our Savior. 

I had remarked that he was always powerfully affected by 
music ; on this occasion he was so in an extraordinary degree. 
As the pealing notes swelled through the lofty aisles, he seemed 
to kindle with fervor ; his eyes rolled upwards, until nothing but 
the whites were visible ; his hands were clasped together, until 
the fingers were deeply imprinted in the flesh. When the music 
expressed the dying agony, his face gradually sank upon his 
knees ; and at the touching words resounding through the church, 
" Gesu 7nori,'" i sobs burst from him uncontrolled. I had never 
seen him weep before. His had always been agony rather than 
sorrow. I augured well from the circumstance, and let him weep 
on uninterrupted. When the ser\-ice was ended, we left the 
church. He hung on my arm as we walked homewards, with 
something of a softer and more subdued manner, instead of that 
nervous agitation I had been accustomed to witness. He alluded 
to the service we had heard. " Music," said he, "is indeed the 
voice of Heaven ; never before have I felt more impressed by the 
story of the atonement of our Savior. — Yes, my friend," said he, 
clasping his hands with a kind of transport, " I know that my 
Redeemer liveth ! " 

We parted for the night. His room was not far from mine, 
and I heard him for some time busied in it. I fell asleep, but 
was awakened before dayhght. The young man stood by my 
bedside, dressed for traveling. He held a sealed packet and a 
large parcel in his hand, which he laid on the table. 

" Farewell, my friend," said he, " I am about to set forth on 
a long journey ; but, before I go I leave with you these remem- 
brances. In this packet you will find the particulars of my story. 
When you read them I shall be far away. Do not remember me 
with aversion. You have been indeed a friend to me. You 

1 Jesus died. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. ^7, 

have poured oil into a broken heart, but you could not heal it. 
Farewell ! Let me kiss your hand — I am unworthy to embrace 
you." He sank on his knees, seized my hand in despite of my 
efforts to the contrary, and covered it with kisses. I was so sur- 
prised by all the scene that I had not been able to say a word. 
" But we shall meet again," said I, hastily, as I saw him hurry- 
ing towards the door. " Never, never, in this world ! " said he, 
solemnly. He sprang once more to my bedside, seized my hand, 
pressed it to his heart and to his lips, and rushed out of the room. 

Here the Baronet paused. He seemed lost in thought, and 
sat looking upon the floor, and drumming with his fingers on the 
arm of his chair. 

" And did this mysterious personage return ? " said the inquisi- 
tive gentleman. 

" Never ! " replied the Baronet, with a pensive shake of the 
head; ''I never saw him again." 

" And pray what has all this to do with the picture ? " inquired 
the old gentleman with the nose. 

"True," said the questioner; "is it the portrait of that crack- 
brained Itahan ? " 

" No," said the Baronet dryly, not half liking the appellation 
given to his hero ; " but this picture was inclosed in the parcel 
he left with me. The sealed packet contained its explanation. 
There was a request on the outside that I would not open it 
until six months had elapsed. I kept my promise in spite of my 
curiosity. I have a translation of it by me, and had meant to 
read it, by way of accounting for the mystery of the chamber ; 
but I fear I have already detained the company too long." 

Here there was a general wish expressed to have the manu- 
script read, particularly on the part of the inquisitive gentleman ; 
so the worthy Baronet drew out a fairly \vritten manuscript, and, 
wiping his spectacles, read aloud the following story : 



84 WASHINGTON IRVING. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUNG ITALIAN. 

I WAS born at Naples. My parents, though of noble rank, 
were limited in fortune, or rather, my father was ostenta- 
tious beyond his means, and expended so much on his palace, 
his equipage, and his retinue, that he was continually straitened 
in his pecuniary circumstances. I was a younger son, and looked 
upon with indifference by my father, who, from a principle of 
family pride, wished to leave all his property to my elder brother. 
I showed, when quite a child, an extreme sensibility. Every- 
thing affected me violently. While yet an infant in my mother's 
arms, and before I had learned to talk, I could be wrought upon 
to a wonderful degree of anguish or delight by the power of 
music. As I grew older, my feelings remained equally acute, 
and I was easily transported into paroxysms of pleasure or rage. 
It was the amusement of my relations and of the domestics to 
play upon ^ this irritable temperament. I was moved to tears, 
tickled to laughter, provoked to fury, for the entertainment of 
company, who were amused by such a tempest of mighty passion 
in a pigmy frame. They httle thought, or perhaps httle heeded, 
the dangerous sensibilities they were fostering. I thus became 
a little creature of passion before reason was developed. In a 
short time I grew too old to be a plaything, and then I became 
a torment. The tricks and passions I had been teased into be- 
came irksome, and I was disliked by my teachers for the very 
lessons they had taught me. My mother died; and my power 
as a spoiled child was at an end. There was no longer any 
necessity to humor or tolerate me, for there was nothing to be 
gained by it, as I was no favorite of my father. I therefore 
experienced the fate of a spoiled child in such a situation, and 
was neglected, or noticed only to be crossed and contradicted. 
Such was the early treatment of a heart which, if I can judge of 

1 " riay upon," i.e., make sport of. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 85 

it at all, was naturally disposed to the extremes of tenderness 
and affection. 

My father, as I have already said, never liked me, — in fact, 
he never understood me ; he looked upon me as willful and way- 
ward, as deficient in natural affection. It was the statehness of 
his own manner, the loftiness and grandeur of his own look, 
which had repelled me from his arms. I always pictured him 
to myself as I had seen him, clad in his senatorial robes, rusthng 
with pomp and pride. The magnificence of his person daunted 
my young imagination. I could never approach him with the 
confiding affection of a child. 

My father's feelings were wrapped up in my elder brother. He 
was to be the inheritor of the family title and the family dignity, 
and everything was sacrificed to him, — I, as well as everything 
else. It was determined to devote me to the Church, that so 
my humors and myself might be removed out of the way either 
of tasking my father's time and trouble, or interfering with the 
interests of my brother. At an early age, therefore, before my 
mind had dawned upon the world and its delights, or known 
anything of it beyond the precincts of my father's palace, I was 
sent to a convent, the superior of which was my uncle, and was 
confided entirely to his care. 

My uncle was a man totally estranged from the world; he had 
never relished, for he had never tasted, its pleasiu-es ; and he re- 
garded rigid self-denial as the great basis of Christian virtue. 
He considered every one's temperament like his own, or at 
least he made them conform to it. His character and habits 
had an influence over the fraternity of which he was superior ; a 
more gloomy, saturnine set of beings were never assembled 
together. The convent, too, was calculated to awaken sad and 
solitary thoughts. It was situated in a gloomy gorge of those 
mountains away south of Vesuvius. All distant views were shut 
out by sterile volcanic heights. A mountain stream raved beneath 
its walls, and eagles screamed about its turrets. 

I had been sent to this place at so tender an age as soon to 



86 WASH I XG TON IRl'JXC. 

lose all distinct recollection of the scenes I had left behind. As 
my mind expanded, therefore, it formed its idea of the world 
from the convent and its vicinity, and a dreary world it appeared 
to me. An early tinge of melancholy was thus infused into my 
character ; and the dismal stories of the monks, about devils and evil 
spirits, with which they affrighted my young imagination, gave me 
a tendency to superstition which I could never effectually shake 
off. They took the same dehght to work upon my ardent feel- 
ings, that had been so mischievously executed by my father's 
household. I can recollect the hon^ors with which they fed my 
heated fancy during an eruption of Vesuvius. We were distant 
from that volcano, with mountains between us ; but its convul- 
sive throes shook the solid foundations of nature. Earthquakes 
threatened to topple down our convent towers. A lurid, baleful 
light hung in the heavens at night, and showers of ashes, borne 
by the wind, fell in our narrow valley. The monks talked of 
the earth being honeycombed beneath us ; of streams of molten 
lava raging through its veins ; of caverns of sulphurous flames 
roaring in the center, the abodes of demons and the damned ; of 
fiery gulfs ready to yawn beneath our feet. All these tales were 
told to the doleful accompaniment of the mountain's thunders, 
whose low bellowing made the walls of our convent \ibrate. 

One of the monks had been a painter, but had retired from 
the world, and embraced this dismal life in expiation of some 
crime. He was a melancholy man, who pursued his art in the 
sohtude of his cell, but made it a source of penance to him. 
His employment was to portray, either on canvas or in waxen 
models, the human face and human form, in the agonies of death, 
and in all the stages of dissolution and decay. The fearful 
mysteries of the charnel house were unfolded in his labors ; the 
loathsome banquet of the beetle and the worm. I turn with 
shuddering even from the recollection of his works ; yet, at the 
time, my strong but ill-directed imagination seized with ardor 
upon his instructions in his art. Anything was a variety from 
the dry studies and monotonous duties of the cloister. In a lit- 



TALES OJ'' A TRAVELER. 87 

tie while I became expert with my pencil, and my gloomy pro- 
ductions were thought worthy of decorating some of the altars 
of the chapel. 

In this dismal way was a creature of feeling and fancy brought 
up. Everything genial and amiable in my nature was repressed, 
and nothing brought out but what was unprofitable and ungra- 
cious. I was ardent in my temperament ; quick, mercurial, ^ impet- 
uous, formed to be a creature all love and adoration ; but a leaden 
hand was laid on all my finer qualities. I was taught nothing 
but fear and hatred. I hated my uncle ; I hated the monks ; I 
hated the convent in which I was immured ; I hated the world ; 
and I almost hated myself for being, as I supposed, so hating 
and hateful an animal. 

When I had nearly attained the age of sixteen, I was suffered, 
on one occasion, to accompany one of the brethren on a mission 
to a distant part of the country. We soon left behind us the 
gloomy valley in which I had been pent up for so many years, 
and after a short journey among the mountains, emerged upon 
the voluptuous landscape that spreads itself about the Bay of 
Naples. Heavens ! how transported was I when I stretched my 
gaze over a vast reach of delicious sunny country, gay with 
groves and vineyards ; with Vesuvius rearing its forked summit 
to my right, the blue Mediterranean to my left, with its en- 
chanting coast, studded with shining towns and sumptuous 
villas, and Naples, my native Naples, gleaming far, far in the 
distance. 

Good God ! was this the lovely world from which I had been 
excluded ! 1 had reached that age when the sensibilities are 
in all their bloom and freshness. Mine had been checked and 
chilled. They now burst forth with the suddenness of a re- 
tarded springtime. My heart, hitherto unnaturally shrunk up, 
expanded into a riot of vague but delicious emotions. The 
beauty of nature intoxicated — bewildered me. The song of the 
peasants, their cheerful looks, their happy avocations, the pic- 

1 Changeable. 



88 WASHING TOX IRVING. 

turesque gayety of their dresses, their rustic music, their dances, — 
all broke upon me like witchcraft. My soul responded to the 
music, my heart danced in my bosom. All the men appeared 
amiable, all the women lovely. 

I returned to the convent, that is to say, my body returned, 
but my heart and soul never entered there again. I could not 
forget this gHmpse of a beautiful and a happy world, — a world so 
suited to my natural character. I had felt so happy while in it ; 
so different a being from what I felt myself when in the convent, 
that tomb of the living. I contrasted the countenances of the be- 
ings I had seen, full of fire and freshness and enjoyment, with the 
palHd, leaden, lackluster visages of the monks ; the dance, with 
the droning chant of the chapel. I had before found the exercises 
of the cloister wearisome ; they now became intolerable. The dull 
round of duties wore away my spirit ; my nerves became irri- 
tated by the fretful tinkling of the convent bell, evermore ding- 
ing among the mountain echoes, evermore calling me from my 
repose at night, my pencil by day, to attend to some tedious and 
mechanical ceremony of devotion. 

I was not of a nature to meditate long without putting my 
thoughts into action. My spirit had been suddenly aroused, and 
was now all awake within me. I watched an opportunity, fled 
from the convent, and made my way on foot to Naples. As I 
entered its gay and crowded streets, and beheld the variety and 
stir of hfe around me, the luxury of palaces, the splendor of 
equipages, and the pantomimic animation of the motley popu- 
lace, I seemed as if awakened to a world of enchantment, and 
solemnly vowed that nothing should force me back to the monot- 
ony of the cloister. 

I had to inquire my way to my father's palace, for I had been 
so young on leaving it that I knew not its situation. I found 
some difficulty in getting admitted to my father's presence ; for 
the domestics scarcely knew that there was such a being as my- 
self in existence, and my monastic dress did not operate in my 
favor. Even my father entertained no recollection of my per- 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 89 

soil. I told him my name, threw myself at his feet, implored his 
forgiveness, and entreated that I might not be sent back to the 
convent. 

He received me with the condescension of a patron, rather 
than the fondness of a parent ; listened patiently, but coldly, to 
my tale of monastic grievances and disgusts, and promised to 
think what else could be done for me. This coldness bhghted 
and drove back all the frank affection of my nature, that was 
ready to spring forth at the least warmth of parental kindness. 
All my early feelings towards my father revived. I again looked 
up to him as the stately, magnificent being that had daunted my 
childish imagination, and felt as if I had no pretensions to his 
sympathies. My brother engrossed all his care and love ; he 
inherited his nature, and carried himself towards me with a pro- 
tecting rather than a fraternal air. It wounded my pride, which 
was great. I could brook condescension from my father, for I 
looked up to him with awe, as a superior being ; but I could not 
brook patronage from a brother, who I felt was intellectually my 
inferior. The servants perceived that I was an unwelcome in- 
truder in the paternal mansion, and, menial like, they treated me 
with neglect. Thus baffled at every point, my affections out- 
raged wherever they would attach themselves, I became sullen, 
silent, and desponding. My feelings, driven back upon myself, 
entered and preyed upon my own heart. I remained for some 
days an unwelcome guest rather than a restored son in my 
father's house. I was doomed never to be properly known there. 
I was made, by wrong treatment, strange even to myself, and 
they judged of me from my strangeness. 

I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks of my 
convent gliding out of my father's room. He saw me, but pre- 
tended not to notice me, and this very hypocrisy made me sus- 
pect something. I had become sore and susceptible in my feel- 
ings ; everything inflicted a wound on them. In this state of 
mind, I was treated with marked disrespect by a pampered min- 
ion, the favorite servant of my father. All the pride and passion 



go WASH I XG TON IRVING. 

of my nature rose in an instant, and I struck him to the earth. 
My father was passing by ; he stopped not to inquire the reason, 
nor indeed could he read the long course of mental sufferings 
which were the real cause. He rebuked me with anger and 
scorn, summoning all the haughtiness of his nature and grandeur 
of his look to give weight to the contumely with which he treated 
me. I felt that I had not deserved it. I felt that I was not 
appreciated. I felt that I had that within me which merited 
better treatment. My heart swelled against a father's injustice. 
I broke through my habitual awe of him ; I repHed to him with 
impatience. My hot spirit flushed in my cheek and kindled in 
my eye ; but my sensiti\'e heart swelled as quickly, and before I 
had half vented my passion, I felt it suffocated and quenched in 
my tears. My father was astonished and incensed at this turn- 
ing of the worm, and ordered me to my chamber. I retired in 
silence, choking with contending emotions. 

I had not been long there when I overheard voices in an 
adjoining apartment. It was a consultation between my father 
and the monk, about the means of getting me back quietly to 
the convent. My resolution was taken. I had no longer a home 
nor a father. That very night I left the paternal roof. I got on 
board a vessel about making sail from the harbor, and abandoned 
myself to the wide world. No matter to what port she steered ; 
any part of so beautiful a world was better than my convent. 
No matter where I v/as cast by fortune ; any place would be 
more a home to me than the home I had left behind. The ves- 
sel was bound to Genoa. We arrived there after a voyage of a 
few days. 

As I entered the harbor between the moles which embrace it, 
and beheld the amphitheater of palaces, and churches, and splen- 
did gardens, rising one above another, I felt at once its title to 
the appellation of "Genoa the Superb." I landed on the mole, 
an utter stranger, without knowing what to do, or whither to direct 
my steps. No matter ; I was released from the thraldom of the 
convent and the humiliations of home. When I traversed the 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 91 

Strada Balbi ^ and the Strada Nuova,i those streets of palaces, 
and gazed at the wonders of architecture around me ; when I 
wandered at close of day amid a gay throng of the brilliant and 
the beautiful, through the green alleys of the Acquaverde,^ or 
among the colonnades and terraces of the magnificent Doria 
gardens,^ I thought it impossible to be ever otherwise than happy 
in Genoa. A few days sufficed to show me my mistake. My 
scanty purse was exhausted, and for the first time in my life I 
experienced the sordid distress of penury. I had never known 
the want of money, and had never adverted to the possibility of 
such an evil. I was ignorant of the world and all its ways ; and 
when first the idea of destitution came over my mind, its effect 
was withering. I was wandering penniless through the streets 
which no longer delighted my eyes, when chance led my steps 
into the magnificent Church of the Annunciata.* 

A celebrated painter of the day was at that moment superin- 
tending the placing of one of his pictures over an altar. The 
proficiency which I had acquired in his art during my residence 
in the convent, had made me an enthusiastic amateur. I was 
struck, at the first glance, with the painting. It was the face of 
a Madonna, so innocent, so lovely, such a divine expression of 
maternal tenderness ! I lost, for the moment, all recollection 
of myself in the enthusiasm of my art. I clasped my hands 
together, and uttered an ejaculation of delight. The painter 
perceived my emotion. He was flattered and gratified by it. 
My air and manner pleased him, and he accosted me. I felt too 
much the want of friendship to repel the advances of a stranger ; 

1 A fine street in the newer part of Genoa, containing palaces of superb 
architecture. 

2 The Piazza Acquaverde is a square in Genoa, now noted for the fine 
statue of Columbus, erected in 1862. 

3 The gardens of the Palace of Doria, presented to Andrea Doria, a Gen- 
oese statesman, in 1522. These gardens are very beautiful, and are famous 
for their fine orange trees. 

4 A church erected in 1487. In its interior it is the most magnificent in 
Genoa. The dome is richly decorated with works of art. 



92 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

and there was something in this one so benevolent and winning, 
that in a moment he gained my confidence. 

I told him my story and my situation, concealing only mv 
name and rank. He appeared strongly interested by my recital, 
invited me to his house, and from that time I became his favorite 
pupil. He thought he perceived in me extraordinary talents for 
the art, and his encomiums awakened all my ardor. What a bliss- 
ful period of my existence was it that I passed beneath his roof ! 
Another being seemed created withm me, or rather, all that was 
amiable and excellent was drawn out. I was as recluse as ever 
I had been at the convent, but how different was my seclusion ! 
My time was spent in storing my mind with lofty and poetical 
ideas ; in meditating on all that was striking and noble in history 
and fiction ; in studying and tracing all that was sublime and 
beautiful in nature. I was always a visionary, imaginative being, 
but now my reveries and imaginings all elevated me to rapture. 
I looked up to my master as to a benevolent genius that had 
opened to me a region of enchantment. He was not a native 
of Genoa, but had been drawn thither by the solicitations of sev- 
eral of the nobility, and had resided there but a few years, for 
the completion of certain works. His health was dehcate, and 
he had to confide much of the filhng up of his designs to the 
pencils of his scholars. He considered me as particularly happy ^ 
in delineating the human countenance ; in seizing upon character- 
istic though fleeting expressions, and fixing them powerfully upon 
my canvas. I was employed continually, therefore, in sketching 
faces, and often, when some particular grace or beauty of expres- 
sion was wanted in a countenance, it was intrusted to my pencil. 
My benefactor was fond of bringing me forward ; and pardy, 
perhaps, through my actual skill, and pardy through his partial 
praises, I began to be noted for the expressions of my counte- 
nances. 

Among the various works which he had undertaken, was an 
historical piece for one of the palaces of Genoa, in which were 

1 Successful. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 93 

to be introduced the likenesses of several of the family. Among 
these was one intrusted to my pencil. It was that of a young 
girl, as yet in a convent for her education. She came out for 
the purpose of sitting for the picture. I first saw her in an apart- 
ment of one of the sumptuous palaces of Genoa. She stood 
before a casement that looked out upon the bay ; a stream of 
vernal sunshine fell upon her, and shed a kind of glory round 
her, as it lit up the rich crimson chamber. She was but sixteen 
years of age — and oh, how lovely ! The scene broke upon me 
hke a mere vision of spring and youth and beauty. I could have 
fallen down and worshiped her. She was like one of those fic- 
tions of poets and painters, when they would express the beait 
ideal that haunts their minds with shapes of indescribable perfec- 
tion. I was permitted to watch her countenance in various posi- 
tions, and I fondly protracted the study that was undoing me. 
The more I gazed on her, the more I became enamored ; there 
was something almost painful in my intense admiration. I was 
but nineteen years of age, shy, diffident, and inexperienced. I 
was treated with attention by her mother ; for my youth and my 
enthusiasm in my art had won favor for me, and I am inclined 
to think something in my air and manner inspired interest and 
respect. Still the kindness with which I was treated could not 
dispel the embarrassment into which my own imagination threw 
me when in the presence of this lovely being. It elevated her into 
something almost more than mortal. She seemed too exquisite 
for earthly use, too delicate and exalted for human attainment. 
As I sat tracing her charms on my canvas, with my eyes occa- 
sionally riveted on her features, I drank in delicious poison that 
made me giddy. My heart alternately gushed with tenderness, 
and ached with despair. Now I became more than ever sensible 
of the violent fires that had lain dormant at the bottom of my 
soul. You who were born in a more temperate climate, and 
under a cooler sky, have httle idea of the violence of passion in 
our southern bosoms. 

A few days finished my task. Bianca returned to her convent, 



94 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

but her image remained indelibly impressed upon my heart. It 
dwelt in my imagination ; it became my pervading idea of beauty. 
It had an effect even upon my pencil. I became noted for my 
felicity in depicting female loveliness. It was but because I mul- 
tiplied the image of Bianca. I soothed and yet fed my fancy 
by introducing her in all the productions of my master. I have 
stood with delight in one of the chapels of the Annunciata, and 
heard the crowd extol the seraphic beauty of a saint which I had 
painted. I have seen them bow down in adoration before the 
painting. They were bowing before the loveliness of Bianca. 

I existed in this kind of dream — I might almost say delirium — 
for upwards of a year. Such is the tenacity of my imagination, 
that the image formed in it continued in all its power and fresh- 
ness. Indeed, I was a solitary, meditative being, much given to 
reverie, and apt to foster ideas which had once taken strong 
possession of me. I was roused from this fond, melancholy, 
delicious dream by the death of my worthy benefactor. I can- 
not describe the pangs his death occasioned me. It left me 
alone, and almost broken-hearted. He bequeathed to me his 
little property, which, from the liberality of his disposition, and 
his expensive style of living, was indeed but small ; and he most 
particularly recommended me, in dying, to the protection of a 
nobleman who had been his patron. 

The latter was a man Avho passed for munificent. He was a 
lover and an encourager of the arts, and evidently wished to be 
thought so. He fancied he saw in me indications of future ex- 
cellence ; my pencil had already attracted attention ; he took me 
at once under his protection. Seeing that I was overwhelmed 
with grief, and incapable of exerting myself in the mansion of 
my late benefactor, he invited me to sojourn for a time at a villa 
which he possessed on the border of the sea, in the picturesque 
neighborhood of Sestri di Ponente.^ 

I found at the villa the count's only son, Filippo. He was near- 

1 A maritime town of Italy, four miles west of Genoa, having many country 
residences of the Genoese citizens. 



TALES OF A TRAVELEK. 95 

ly of my age, prepossessing in his appearance, and fascinating in 
his manners ; he attached himself to me, and seemed to court my 
good opinion. I thought there was something of profession in 
his kindness, and of caprice in his disposition ; but I had nothing 
else near me to attach myself to, and my heart felt the need of 
something to repose upon. His education had been neglected ; 
he looked upon me as his superior in mental powers and acquire- 
ments, and tacitly acknowledged my superiority. I felt that I 
was his equal in birth, and that gave independence to my man- 
ners, which had its effect. The caprice and tyranny I saw some- 
times exercised on others over whom he had power, were never 
manifested towards me. We became intimate friends and fre- 
quent companions. Still, I loved to be alone, and to indulge in 
the reveries of my own imagination among the scenery by which 
I was surrounded. The villa commanded a wide view of the 
Mediterranean, and of the picturesque Ligurian coast. ^ It stood 
alone in the midst of ornamented grounds, finely decorated with 
statues and fountains, and laid out in groves and alleys and shady 
lawns. Everything was assembled here that could gratify the 
taste or agreeably occupy the mind. Soothed by the tranquil- 
lity of this elegant retreat, the turbulence of my feelings gradually 
subsided, and blending with the romantic spell which still reigned 
over my imagination, produced a soft, voluptuous melancholy. 

I had not been long under the roof of the count when our 
solitude w^as enlivened by another inhabitant. It was a daugh- 
ter of a relative of the count, who had lately died in reduced 
circumstances, bequeathing this only child to his protection. I 
had heard much of her beauty from Filippo, but my fancy had 
become so engrossed by one idea of beauty as not to admit of 
any other. We were in the central saloon of the villa when she 
arrived. She was still in mourning, and approached, leaning on 
the count's arm. As they ascended the marble portico, I was 
struck by the elegance of her figure and movement, by the grace 

1 Liguria, a mountainous region of Italy, comprising the provinces of 
Genoa and Porto Maurizio. 



96 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

with which the iiiczzaro^ the bewitching veil of Genoa, was folded 
about her slender form. They entered. Heavens ! what was 
my surprise when I beheld Bianca before me ! It was herself, 
pale with grief, but still more matured in loveliness than when I 
had last beheld her. The time that had elapsed had developed 
the graces of her person, and the sorrow she had undergone had 
diffused over her countenance an irresistible tenderness. 

She blushed and trembled at seeing me, and tears rushed into 
her eyes, for she remembered in whose company she had been 
accustomed to behold me. For my part, I cannot express what 
were my emotions. By degrees I overcame the extreme shyness 
that had formerly paralyzed me in her presence. We were drawn 
together by sympathy of situation. We had each lost our best 
friend in the world ; we were each, in some measure, thrown upon 
the kindness of others. When I came to know her intellectu- 
ally, all my ideal pictiu-ings of her were confirmed. Her newness 
to the world, her delightful susceptibility to everything beautiful 
and agreeable in nature, reminded me of my own emotions when 
first I escaped from the convent. Her rectitude of thinking 
delighted my judgment ; the sweetness of her nature wrapped 
itself round my heart ; and then her young, and tender, and bud- 
ding loveliness sent a delicious madness to my brain. 

I gazed upon her with a kind of idolatry, as something more 
than mortal ; and I felt humiliated at the idea of my comparative 
unworthiness. Yet she was mortal ; and one of mortality's most 
susceptible and loving compounds, — for she loved me ! 

How first I discovered the transporting truth I cannot recol- 
lect. I believe it stole upon me by degrees, as a wonder past 
hope or belief. We were both at such a tender and loving 
age, in constant intercourse with each other, mingling in the 
same elegant pursuits, for music, poetry, and painting were our 
mutual delights, and we were almost separated from society 
among lovely and romantic scenery. Is it strange that two 
young hearts thus brought together should readily twine round 
each other ? 



l^ALES OF A TRAVELER. 97 

gods ! what a dream — a transient dream of unalloyed de- 
light — then passed over my soul ! Then it was that the world 
around me was indeed a paradise; for I had woman — lovely, 
delicious woman — to share it with me ! How often have I ram- 
bled along the picturesque shores of Sestri, or climbed its wild 
mountains, with the coast gemmed with villas, and the blue sea 
far below me, and the slender Faro ^ of Genoa on its romantic 
promontory - in the distance ; and as I sustained the faltering 
steps of Bianca, have thought there could no unhappiness en- 
ter into so beautiful a world ! How often have we listened 
together to the nightingale, as it poured forth its rich notes 
among the moonlight bowers of the garden, and have wondered 
that poets could ever have fancied anything melancholy in its 
song ! Why, oh why, is this budding season of life and tender- 
ness so transient ! Why is this rosy cloud of love, that sheds 
such a glow over the morning of our days, so prone to brew up 
into the whirlwind and the storm ! 

1 was the first to awaken from this bhssful delirium of the affec- 
tions. I had gained Bianca's heart — what was I to do with it ? 
I had no wealth nor prospect to entitle me to her hand. Was I 
to take advantage of her ignorance of the world, of her confid- 
ing affection, and draw her down to my own poverty ? Was 
this requiting the hospitality of the count ? Was this requiting 
the love of Bianca ? 

Now first I began to feel that even successful love may have 
its bitterness. A corroding care gathered about my heart. I 
moved about the palace like a guilty being. I felt as if I had 
abused its hospitality, as if I were a thief within its walls. I 
could no longer look with unembarrassed mien in the counte- 
nance of the count. 1 accused myself of perfidy to him, and I 
thought he read it in my looks and began to distrust and despise 
me. His manner had always been ostentatious and condescend- 

1 The lighthouse of Genoa; a beautiful structure, three hundred feet high. 

2 Cape Faro, in the southern extremity of Genoa, on a slender piece of 
land. 

7 



9^ VVASHINGTOX IRVIXG. 

ing ; it now appeared cold and haughty. FiHppo, too, became re- 
served and distant, or at least I suspected him to be so. Heavens I 
was this the mere coinage of my brain ? Was I to become sus- 
picious of all the world ? a poor, surmising wretch, watching looks 
and gestures, and torturing myself with misconstructions ? Or, 
if true, w^as I to remain beneath a roof where I was merelv tol- 
erated, and linger there on sufferance ? " This is not to be en- 
dured I " exclaimed I. "I will tear myself from this state of 
self-abasement ; I will break through this fascination, and fly — 
Fly! — whither ? from the world? for where- is the world when I 
leave Bianca behind me ? " 

My spirit was naturally proud, and swelled within me at the 
idea of being looked upon with contumely. Many times I was 
on the point of declaring my family and rank, and asserting my 
equality in the presence of Bianca, when I thought her relations 
assumed an air of superiority. But the feeling was transient. I 
considered myself discarded and condemned by my family, and 
had solemnly vowed never to own relationship to them until they 
themselves should claim it. 

The struggle of my mind preyed upon my happiness and my 
health. It seemed as if the uncertainty of being loved would be 
less intolerable than thus to be assured of it, and yet not dare to 
enjoy the conviction. I was no longer the enraptured admirer 
of Bianca ; I no longer hung in ecstasy on the tones of her voice, 
nor drank in with insatiate gaze the beauty of her countenance. 
Her very smiles ceased to delight me, for I felt culpable in hav- 
ing won them. 

She could not but be sensible of the change in me, and inquired 
the cause with her usual frankness and simplicity. I could not 
evade the inquiry, for my heart was full to aching. I told her 
all the conflict of my soul, my devouring passion, my bitter self- 
upbraiding. "Yes," said I, " I am unworthy of you. I am an 
offcast from my family, — a wanderer, — a nameless, homeless 
wanderer, with nothing but poverty for my portion ; and yet I 
have dared to love you — liave dared to aspire to your love." 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 99 

My agitation moved her to tears, but she saw nothing in my 
situation so hopeless as I had depicted it. Brought up in a con- 
vent, she knew nothing of the world, — its wants, its cares; and 
indeed, what woman is a worldly casuist in the matters of the 
heart ? Nay, more, she kindled into sweet enthusiasm when she 
spoke of my fortunes and myself. We had dwelt together on the 
works of the famous masters. I related to her their histories, 
the high reputation, the influence, the magnificence to which they 
had attained, — the companions of princes, the favorites of kings, 
the pride and boast of nations. All this she apphed to me. Her 
love saw nothing in all their great productions that I was not 
able to achieve ; and when I beheld the lovely creature glow with 
fervor, and her whole countenance radiant with visions of my 
glory, I was snatched up for the moment into the heaven of her 
own imagination. 

I am dwelling too long upon this part of my story, yet I can- 
not help lingering over a period of my Hfe on which, with all its 
cares and conflicts, I look back with fondness, for as yet my soul 
was unstained by a crime. I do not know what might have been 
the result of this struggle between pride, delicacy, and passion, 
had I not read in a Neapolitan gazette an account of the sudden 
death of my brother. It was accompanied by an earnest inquiry 
for intelligence concerning me, and a prayer, should this meet 
my eye, that I would hasten to Naples to comfort an infirm and 
afflicted father. 

I was naturally of an affectionate disposition, but my brother 
had never been as a brother to me. I had long considered 
myself as disconnected from him, and his death caused me but 
little emotion. The thoughts of my father, infirm and suffering, 
touched me, however, to the quick, and when I thought of him, 
that lofty, magnificent being, now bowed down and desolate, 
and suing to me for comfort, all my resentment for past neg- 
lect was subdued, and a glow of filial affection was awakened 
within me. 

The predominant feeling, however, that overpowered all others, 



lOO WASHINGTON IRVING. 

was transport at the sudden change in my whole fortunes. A 
home, a name, rank, wealth, awaited me ; and love painted a still 
more rapturous prospect in the distance. I hastened to Bianca, 
and threw myself at her feet. " O Bianca I " exclaimed I, " at 
length I can claim you for my own. I am no longer a nameless 
adventurer, a neglected, rejected outcast. Look — read — be- 
hold the tidings that restore me to my name and to myself I " 

I will not dwell on the scene that ensued. Bianca rejoiced 
in the reverse of my situation, because she saw it lightened my 
heart of a load of care ; for her own part, she had loved me for 
myself, and had never doubted that my own merits would com- 
mand both fame and fortune. 

I now felt all my native pride buoyant within me. I no longer 
walked with my eyes bent to the dust ; hope elevated them to 
the skies ; my soul was lit up with fresh fires, and beamed from 
my countenance. 

I wished to impart the change in my circumstances to the 
count, to let him know who and what I was, and to make formal 
proposals for the hand of Bianca ; but he was absent on a dis- 
tant estate. I opened my whole soul to Filippo. Now first I 
told him of my passion, of the doubts and fears that had dis- 
tracted me, and of the tidings that had suddenly dispelled them. 
He overwhelmed me with congratulations, and with the warm- 
est expressions of sympathy. I embraced him in the fullness 
of my heart ; I felt compunctious for having suspected him of 
coldness, and asked his forgiveness for ever having doubted his 
friendship. 

Nothing is so warm and enthusiastic as a sudden expansion of 
the heart between young men. Filippo entered into our con- 
cerns with the most eager interest. He was our confidant and 
counselor. It was determined that I should hasten at once to 
Naples, to reestablish myself in my father's affections and my 
paternal home ; and the moment the reconcihation was effected, 
and my father's consent insured, I should return and demand 
Bianca of the count. Filippo engaged to secure his father's 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. loi 

acquiescence ; indeed he undertook to watch over our interest, 
and to be the channel through which we might correspond. 

My parting with Bianca was tender, dehcious, agonizing. It 
was in a httle pavilion of the garden which had been one of our 
favorite resorts. How often and often did I return to have one 
more adieu ; to have her look once more on me in speechless 
emotion ; to enjoy once more the rapturous sight of those tears 
streaming down her lovely cheeks ; to seize once more on that 
delicate hand, the frankly accorded pledge of love, and cover it 
with tears and kisses! Heavens! there is a delight even in the 
parting agony of two lovers worth a thousand tame pleasures 
of the world. I have her at this moment before my eyes, at the 
window of the pavilion, putting aside the vines which clustered 
about the casement, her form beaming forth in virgin light, her 
countenance all tears and smiles, sending a thousand and a thou- 
sand adieus after me, as, liesitating in a delirium of fondness and 
agitation, I faltered my way down the avenue. 

As the bark bore me out of the harbor of Genoa, how eagerly 
my eye stretched along the coast of Sestri till it discovered the 
villa gleaming from among the trees at the foot of the mountain. 
As long as day lasted I gazed and gazed upon it, till it lessened 
and lessened to a mere white speck in the distance ; and still my 
intense and fixed gaze discerned it, when all other objects of the 
coast had blended into indistinct confusion, or were lost in the 
evening gloom. 

On arriving at Naples, I hastened to my paternal home. My 
heart yearned for the long withheld blessing of a father's love. 
As I entered the proud portal of the ancestral palace, my emo- 
tions were so great that I could not speak. No one knew me ; 
the servants gazed at me with curiosity and surprise. A few 
years of intellectual elevation and development had made a pro- 
digious change in the poor fugitive stripling from the convent. 
Still, that no one should know me in my rightful home was over- 
powering. I felt like the prodigal son returned. I was a stranger 
in the house of my father, I burst into tears and wept aloud. 



102 nASHIXG'JOX IRl'JXG. 

When I made myself known, however, all was changed. I, who 
had once been almost repulsed from its walls, and forced to fly 
as an exile, was welcomed back with acclamation, with servilit}'. 
One of the servants hastened to prepare my father for my recep- 
tion, ^ly eagerness to receive the paternal embrace was so great 
that I could not await his retmn, but hurried after him. What 
a spectacle met my eyes as I entered the chamber 1 My father, 
whom I had left in the pride of vigorous age, whose noble and 
majestic bearing had so awed my young imagination, was bowed 
down and withered into decrepitude. A paralysis had ravaged 
his stately form, and left it a shaking ruin. He sat propped up 
in his chair, with pale, relaxed visage, and glassy, wandering eve. 
His intellect had evidently shared in the ravages of his frame. 
The servant was endeavoring to make him comprehend that a 
visitor was at hand. I tottered up to him, and sank at his feet. 
All his past coldness and neglect were forgotten in his present 
sufferings. I remembered only that he was my parent, and that 
I had deserted him. I clasped his knee ; my voice was almost 
filled with convulsive sobs. " Pardon — pardon ! O my father ! " 
was all that I could utter. His apprehension seemed slowly to 
return to him. He gazed at me for some moments with a vague, 
inquiring look, a convulsive tremor quivered about his lips, he 
feebly extended a shaking hand, laid it upon my head, and burst 
into an infantine flow of tears. 

From that moment he would scarcely spare me from his sight. 
I appeared the only object that his heart responded to in the 
world ; all else was as a blank to him. He had almost lost the 
power of speech, and the reasoning faculty seemed at an end. 
He was mute and passive, excepting that fits of childhke weeping 
would sometimes come over him without any immediate cause. 
If I left the room at any time, his eye was incessantly fixed on 
the door till my return, and on my entrance there w^as another 
gush of tears. 

To talk with him of all my concerns, in this ruined state of 
mind, would have been worse than useless ; to have left him for 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 103 

ever so short a time would have been cruel, unnatural. Here, 
then, was a new trial for my affections. I wrote to Bianca an 
account of my return, and of my actual situation, painting in 
colors vivid, for they were true, the torments I suffered at our 
being thus separated ; for the youthful lover every day of absence 
is an age of love lost. I inclosed the letter in one to Filippo, 
who was the channel of our correspondence. I received a reply 
from him full of friendship and sympathy, from Bianca, full of 
assurances of affection and constancy. Week after week, month 
after month elapsed without making any change in my circum- 
stances. The vital flame which had seemed nearly extinct when 
first I met my father, kept fluttering on without any apparent 
diminution. I watched him constantly, faithfully, I had almost 
said patiently. I knew that his death alone would set me free, 
yet I never at any moment wished it. I felt too glad to be able 
to make any atonement for past disobedience ; and denied, as I 
had been, all endearments of relationship in my early days, my 
heart yearned towards a father who in his age and helplessness 
had thrown himself entirely on me for comfort. 

My passion for Bianca gained daily more force from absence ; 
by constant meditation it wore itself a deeper and deeper chan- 
nel. I made no new friends nor acquaintances, sought none of 
the pleastu"es of Naples which my rank and fortune threw open 
to me. Mine was a heart that confined itself to few objects, but 
dwelt upon them with the intenser passion. To sit by my father, 
administer to his wants, and to meditate on Bianca in the silence 
of his chamber, was my constant habit. Sometimes I amused 
myself with my pencil in portraying the image ever present to 
my imagination. I transferred to canvas every look and smile 
of hers that dwelt in my heart. I showed them to my father, in 
hopes of awakening an interest in his bosom for the mere shadow 
of my love ; but he was too far sunk in intellect to take any notice 
of them. When I received a letter from Bianca, it was a new 
source of soHtary luxury. Her letters, it is true, were less and 
less frequent, but they were always full of assurances of unabated 



I04 WASHINCTOA" IRVIXG. 

affection. They breathed not the frank and innocent warmth 
with which she expressed herself in conversation, but I accounted 
for it from the embarrassment which inexperienced minds have 
often to express themselves upon paper. Fihppo assured me of 
her unaltered constancy. They both lamented, in the strongest 
terms, our continued separation, though they did justice to the 
filial piety that kept me by my father's side. 

Nearly two years elapsed in this protracted exile. To me they 
were so many ages. Ardent and impetuous by nature, I scarcely 
know how I should have supported so long an absence had I 
not felt assured that the faith of Bianca was equal to my own. 
At length my father died. Life went from him almost imper- 
ceptibly. I hung over him in mute affliction, and watched the 
expiring spasms of nature. His last faltering accents whispered 
repeatedly a blessing on me. Alas ! how has it been fulfilled ! 

When I had paid due honors to his remains, and laid them in 
the tomb of our ancestors, I arranged briefly my affairs, put them 
in a posture to be easily at my command from a distance, and 
embarked once more with a bounding heart for Genoa. 

Our voyage was propitious, and oh, what was my rapture 
when first, in the dawn of morning, I saw the shadowy summits 
of the Apennines rising almost like clouds above the horizon ! 
The sweet breath of summer just moved us over the long waver- 
ing billows that were rolling us on towards Genoa. By degrees 
the coast of Sestri rose like a creation of enchantment from the 
silver bosom of the deep. I beheld the line of villages and pal- 
aces studding its borders. My eye reverted to a well-known 
point, and at length, from the confusion of distant objects, it 
singled out the villa which, contained Bianca. It was a mere 
speck in the landscape, but glimmering from afar, the polar star 
of my heart. 

Again I gazed at it for a livelong summer's day, but oh, how 
different the emotions between departure and return ! It now 
kept growing and growing, instead of lessening and lessening, on 
my sight. My heart seemed to dilate with it. I looked at it 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 105 

through a telescope. I gradually defined one feature after an- 
other. The balconies of the second saloon where first I met 
Bianca beneath its roof ; the terrace where we so often had passed 
the dehghtful summer evenings ; the awning which shaded her 
chamber window ; I almost fancied I saw her form beneath it. 
Could she but know her lover was in the bark whose white sail 
now gleamed on the sunny bosom of the sea ! My fond impa- 
tience increased as we neared the coast ; the ship seemed to lag 
lazily over the billows ; I could almost have sprung into the sea, 
and swum to the desired shore. 

The shadows of evening gradually shrouded the scene, but the 
moon arose in all her fullness and beauty, and shed the tender 
light so dear to lovers over the romantic coast of Sestri. My 
soul was bathed in unutterable tenderness. I anticipated the 
heavenly evenings I should pass in once more wandering with 
Bianca by the light of that blessed moon. 

It was late at night before we entered the harbor. As early 
next morning as I could get released from the formalities of land- 
ing, I threw myself on horseback, and hastened to the villa. As 
I galloped round the rocky promontory on which stands the Faro, 
and saw the coast of Sestri opening upon me, a thousand anxi- 
eties and doubts suddenly sprang up in my bosom. There is 
something fearful in returning to those we love, while yet uncer- 
tain what ills or changes absence may have effected. The tur- 
bulence of my agitation shook my very frame. I spurred my 
horse to redoubled speed ; he was covered with foam when we 
both arrived panting at the gateway that opened to the grounds 
around the villa. I left my horse at a cottage, and walked 
through the grounds, that I might regain tranquillity for the 
approaching interview. I chid myself for having suffered mere 
doubts and surmises thus suddenly to overcome me ; but I was 
always prone to be carried away by gusts of the feelings. 

On entering the garden, everything bore the same look as 
when I had left it; and this unchanged aspect of things reas- 
sured me. There were the allevs in which I had so often walked 



io6 WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. 

with Bianca, as we listened to the song of the nightingale ; the 
same shades under which we had so often sat during the noon- 
tide heat. There were the same flowers of which she was so 
fond, and w^hich appeared still to be under the ministry of her 
hand. Everything looked and breathed of Bianca ; hope and 
joy flushed in my bosom at every step. I passed a little arbor, 
in which we had often sat and read together ; a book and glove 
lay on the bench ; it was Bianca's glove ; it was a volume of the 
" Metastasio " ^ I had given her. The glove lay in my favorite 
passage. I clasped them to my heart with rapture. " All is 
safe ! " exclaimed I ; " she loves me, she is still my own I " 

I bounded lightly along the avenue down which I had fal- 
tered slowly at my departure. I beheld her favorite pavilion, 
which had witnessed our parting scene. The window was open, 
with the same vine clambering about it, precisely as when she 
waved and wept me an adieu. Oh, how transporting was the con- 
trast in my situation ! As I passed near the pavilion, I heard 
the tones of a female voice ; they thrilled through me with an 
appeal to my heart not to be mistaken. Before I could think, I 
felt they were Bianca's. For an instant I paused, overpowered 
with agitation. I feared to break so suddenly upon her. I softly 
ascended the steps of the pavilion. The door was open. I saw 
Bianca seated at a table ; her back was towards me ; she was 
warbling a soft, melancholy air, and was occupied in drawing. 
A glance sufficed to show me that she was copying one of my 
own paintings. I gazed on her for a moment in a delicious 
tumult of emotions. She paused in her singing : a heavy sigh, 
almost a sob, followed. I could no longer contain myself. 
" Bianca! " exclaimed I, in a half -smothered voice. She started at 
the sound, brushed back the ringlets that hung clustering about 
her face, darted a glance at me, uttered a piercing shriek, and 
would have fallen to the earth had I not caught her in my arms. 

1 A famous Italian poet (1698-1782). His real name was Trapassi, which 
was changed to Metastasio ("a changing") on his adoption by the jurist 
Gravina. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 107 

" Bianca ! my own Bianca !" exclaimed I, folding her to my 
bosom, my voice stifled in sobs of convulsive joy. She lay in 
my arms without sense or motion. Alarmed at the effects of my 
precipitation, I scarce knew what to do. I tried by a thousand 
endearing words to call her back to consciousness. She slowly 
recovered, and half opened her eyes. " Where am I ? " mur- 
mured she faintly. " Here ! " exclaimed I, pressing her to my 
bosom, "here — close to the heart that adores you — in the arms 
of your faithful Ottavio ! " " Oh, no ! no ! no !" shrieked she, 
starting into sudden life and terror. " Away ! away ! leave me ! 
leave me ! " 

She tore herself from my arms, rushed to a corner of the 
saloon, and covered her face with her hands, as if the very sight 
of me were baleful. I was thunderstruck. I could not believe 
my senses. I followed her, trembling, confounded. I endeavored 
to take her hand, but she shrunk from my very touch with horror. 

" Good heavens, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, " what is the meaning 
of this ? Is this my reception after so long an absence ? Is 
this the love you professed for me ? " 

At the mention of love, a shuddering ran through her. She 
turned to me a face wild with anguish. " No more of that — no 
more of that ! " gasped she ; " talk not to me of love ! I — I — 
am married ! " 

I reeled as if I had received a mortal blow ; a sickness struck 
to my very heart. I caught at a window frame for support. 
For a moment or two everything was chaos around me. When 
I recovered, I beheld Bianca lying on a sofa, her face buried in 
the pillow, and sobbing convulsively. Indignation for her fickle- 
ness for a moment overpowered every other feeling. 

" Faithless ! perjured ! " cried I, striding across the room. But 
another glance at that beautiful being in distress checked all my 
wrath. Anger could not dwell together with her idea in my soul. 

" Oh, Bianca ! " exclaimed I, in anguish, "could I have dreamed 
of this ? Could I have suspected you would have been false to 
me?" 



io8 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

She raised her face, all streaming with tears, all disordered with 
emotion, and gave me one appealing look. " False to you ? 
They told me you were dead ! " 

" What ! " said I, " in spite of our constant correspondence ? " 

She gazed wildly at me. " Correspondence ? what correspond- 
ence ? " 

** Have you not repeatedly received and replied to my letters ? " 

She clasped her hands with solemnity and fervor. " As I hope 
for mercy — never ! " 

A horrible surmise shot through my brain. " Who told you I 
was dead ? " 

"It was reported that the ship in which you embarked for 
Naples perished at sea." 

" But who told you the report ? " 

She paused for an instant, and trembled ; — " Filippo ! " 

" May the God of heaven curse him ! " cried I, extending my 
clinched fists aloft. 

" Oh, do not curse him, do not curse him ! " exclaimed she ; 
" he is — he is — my husband I " 

This was all that was wanting to unfold the perfidy that had 
been practiced upon me. My blood boiled Hke liquid fire in my 
veins. I gasped with rage too great for utterance. I remained 
for a time bewildered by the whirl of homble thoughts that 
rushed through my mind. The poor victim of deception before 
me thought it was with her I was iftcensed. She faintly mur- 
mured forth her exculpation. I will not dwell upon it. I saw 
in it more than she meant to reveal. I saw with a glance how 
both of us had been betrayed. 

" 'Tis well," muttered I to myself in smothered accents of 
concentrated fun,-. " He shall render an account of all this." 

Bianca overheard me. New terror flashed in her coimtenance. 
" For mercy's sake, do not meet him ! say nothing of what has 
passed — for my sake say nothing to him. I only shall be the 
sufferer I " 

A new suspicion darted across my mind. " What I " exclaimed 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 109 

I, " do you then fear him ? Is he unkind to you ? Tell me," 
reiterated I, grasping her hand, and looking her eagerly in the 
face, " tell me — dares he to use you harshly ? " 

" No, no, no ! " cried she, faltering and embarrassed ; but the 
glance at her face had told volumes. I saw in her pallid and 
wasted features, in the prompt terror and subdued agony of her 
eye, a whole history of a mind broken down by tyranny. Great 
God ! and was this beauteous flower snatched from me to be thus 
trampled upon ? The idea roused me to madness. I clinched 
my teeth and hands ; I foamed at the mouth ; every passion seemed 
to have resolved itself into the fury that like a lava boiled within 
my heart. Bianca shiTink from me in speechless affright. As I 
strode by the window^ my eye darted down the alley. Fatal 
moment ! I beheld Filippo at a distance. My brain was in de- 
lirium. I sprang from the pavilion, and was before him with the 
quickness of lightning. He saw me as I came rushing upon him ; 
he turned pale, looked wildly to right and left, as if he would 
have fled, and trembhng, drew his sword, 

" Wretch ! " cried I, " well may you draw your weapon ! " 
I spoke not another word. I snatched forth a stiletto, put by 
the sword which trembled in his hand, and buried my poniard 
in his bosom. He fell with the blow, but my rage was unsated. 
I sprang upon him with the bloodthirsty feeling of a tiger, re- 
doubled my blows, mangled him in my frenzy, grasped him by 
the throat, until, with reiterated wounds and strangling convul- 
sions, he expired in my grasp. I remained glaring on the coun- 
tenance, horrible in death, that seemed to stare back with its 
protruded eyes upon me. Piercing shrieks roused me from my 
dehrium. I looked round and beheld Bianca flying distractedly 
towards us. My brain whirled ; I waited not to meet her, but 
fled from the scene of horror. I fled forth from the garden like 
another Cain, a hell within my bosom, and a curse upon my 
head. I fled without knowing whither, almost without knowing 
why. My only idea was to get farther and farther from the hor- 
rors I had left behind — as if I could throw space between myself 



no WASHING TOX IRVING. 

and my conscience. I fled to the Apennines, and wandered for 
days and days among their savage heights. How I existed I 
cannot tell ; what rocks and precipices I braved, and how I 
braved them, I know not. I kept on and on, trying to outtravel 
the cm-se that clung to me. Alas ! the shrieks of Bianca rung 
forever in my ears. The horrible countenance of my victim was 
forever before my eyes. The blood of Filippo cried to me from 
the ground. Rocks, trees, and torrents, all resounded with my 
crime. Then it was I felt how much more insupportable is the 
anguish of remorse than every other mental pang. Oh, could I 
but have cast off this crime that festered in my heart ! Could 
I but have regained the innocence that reigned in my breast as 
I entered the garden at Sestri ! Could I but have restored my 
victim to life, I felt as if I could look on with transport, even 
though Bianca were in his arms. 

By degrees this 'frenzied fever of remorse settled into a per- 
manent malady of the mind, — into one of the most horrible that 
ever poor wretch was cursed with. Wherever I went, the coun- 
tenance of him I had slain appeared to follow me. Whenever 
I turned my head, I beheld it behind me, hideous with the con- 
tortions of the dying moment. I have tried in every way to 
escape from this horrible phantom, but in vain. I know not 
whether it be an illusion of the mind, the consequence of my dis- 
mal education at the convent, or whether a phantom really sent 
by Heaven to punish me, but there it ever is, at all times, in 
all places. Nor has time nor habit had any effect in familiariz- 
ing me with its terrors. I have traveled from place to place, 
plunged into amusements, tried dissipation and distraction of 
every kind ; all, all in vain. I once had recourse to my pencil 
as a desperate experiment. I painted an exact resemblance of 
this phantom face. I placed it before me, in hopes that by con- 
stantly contemplating the copy I might diminish the effect of 
the original. But I only doubled instead of diminishing the 
misery. Such is the curse that has clung to my footsteps ; that 
has made mv life a burden, but the thought of death terrible. 



TALES OF A TRA VELER. i i i 

God knows what I have suffered, — what days and days, and 
nights and nights, of sleepless torment ; what a never-dying worm 
has preyed upon my heart ; what an unquenchable fire has burned 
within my brain ! He knows the wrongs that wrought upon my 
poor, weak nature ; that converted the tenderest of affections into 
the deadliest of fury. He knows best whether a frail, erring 
creature has expiated by long-enduring torture and measureless 
remorse the crime of a moment of madness. Often, often, have 
I prostrated myself in the dust, and implored that He would give 
me a sign of his forgiveness, and let me die 

Thus far had I written some time since. I had meant to leave 
this record of misery and crime with you, to be read when I 
should be no more. 

My prayer to Heaven has at length been heard. You were 
witness to my emotions last evening at the church, when the 
vaulted temple resounded with the words of atonement and re- 
demption. I heard a voice speaking to me from the midst of 
the music ; I heard it rising above the pealing of the organ and 
the voices of the choir ; it spoke to me in tones of celestial mel- 
ody ; it promised mercy and forgiveness, but demanded from 
me full expiation. I go to make it. To-morrow I shall be on 
my way to Genoa, to surrender myself to justice. You who have 
pitied my sufferings, who have poured the balm of sympathy into 
my wounds, do not shrink from my memory with abhorrence 
now that you know my story. Recollect that when you read 
of my crime I shall have atoned for it with my blood ! 

When the Baronet had finished, there was a universal desire 
expressed to see the painting of this frightful visage. After 
much entreaty, the Baronet consented on condition that they 
should only visit it one by one. He called his housekeeper, and 
gave her charge to conduct the gentlemen, singly, to the cham- 
ber. They all returned varying in their stories, some affected in 
one way, some in another, some more, some less, but all agreeing 



112 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

that there was a certain something about the painting that had a 
very odd effect upon the feeHngs. 

I stood in a deep bow window with the Baronet, and could not 
help expressing my wonder. "After all," said I, "there are cer- 
tain mysteries in our nature, certain inscrutable impulses and in- 
fluences, which warrant one in being superstitious. Who can 
account for so many persons of different characters being thus 
strangely affected by a mere painting ? " 

" And especially when not one of them has seen it," said the 
Baronet, with a smile. 

" How ! " exclaimed I, " not seen it ? " 

" Not one of them ! " replied he, laying his finger on his lips, 
in sign of secrecy. " I saw that some of them were in a banter- 
ing vein, and did not choose that the memento of the poor Italian 
should be made a jest of. So I gave the housekeeper a hint to 
show them all to a different chamber ! " 

Thus end the stones of the Nervous Gentleman. 



PART II. 



BUCKTHORNE AND HIS FRIENDS. 

This world is the best that we live in, 

To lend, or to spend, or to give in ; 

But to beg, or to borrow, or get a man's own, 

'Tis the very worst world, sir, that ever was known. 

Lines from an Inn Window. 



II > 



LITERARY LIFE. 

AMONG other subjects of a traveler's curiosity, I had at one 
..^jL time a great craving after anecdotes of literary life, and 
being at London, one of the most noted places for the produc- 
tion of books, I was excessively anxious to know something of 
the animals which produced them. Chance fortunately threw 
me in the way of a literary man by the name of Buckthorne, an 
eccentric personage, who had lived much in the metropolis, and 
could give me the natural history of every odd animal to be met 
with in that wilderness of men. He readily imparted to me some 
useful hints upon the subject of my inquiry. 

"The literary world," said he, "is made up of little confeder- 
acies, each looking upon its own members as the lights of the 
universe, and considering all others as mere transient meteors, 
doomed soon to fall and be forgotten, while its own luminaries 
are to shine steadily on to immortality." 

" And pray," said I, " how is a man to get a peep into those 
confederacies you speak of ? I presume an intercourse with 
authors is a kind of intellectual exchange, where one must bring 
his commodities to barter, and always give a quid pro quo^ ^ 

" Pooh, pooh ! how you mistake I " said Buckthorne, smiling ; 
" you must never think to become popular among wits by shin- 
ing. They go into society to shine themselves, not to admire the 
brilliancy of others. I once thought as you do, and never went 
into literary society without studying my part beforehand ; the 
consequence was that I soon got the name of an intolerable proser, 

1 Literally, " what for M-liat ;" hence, one thing for another, or an equiva- 
lent. 

115 



ii6 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

and should in a little while have been completely excommuni- 
cated, had I not changed my plan of operations. No, sir, no 
character succeeds so well among wits as that of a good hs- 
tener ; or if ever you are eloquent, let it be when tete-a-tete with 
an author, and then in praise of his own works, or, what is nearly 
as acceptable, in disparagement of the works of his contempo- 
raries. If ever he speaks favorably of the productions of a par- 
ticular friend, dissent boldly from him ; pronounce his friend to 
be a blockhead; never fear his being vexed. Much as people 
speak of the irritabihty of authors, I never found one to take 
offense at such contradictions. No, no, sir, authors are particu- 
larly candid in admitting the faults of their friends. 

" Indeed, I would advise you to be exceedingly sparing of 
remarks on all modern works, except to make sarcastic observa- 
tions on the most distinguished writers of the day." 

" Faith," said I, " I'll praise none that have not been dead 
for at least half a century," 

"Even then," observed Mr, Buckthorne, " I would advise you 
to be rather cautious, for you must know that many old writers 
have been enlisted under the banners of different sects, and their 
merits have become as completely topics of party discussion as 
the merits of living statesmen and politicians. Nay, there have 
been whole periods of literature absolutely tabooed, ^ to use a 
South Sea phrase. It is, for example, as much as a man's critical 
reputation is worth in some circles, to say a word in praise of 
any of the writers of the reign of Charles II.,- or even of Queen 
Anne, they being all declared Frenchmen in disguise." 

1 Taboo (" to forbid ") is derived from tabu, the name of a religious inter- 
dict or ban of any kind among the races of the South Pacific. 

2 In the age of Charles II., poetry was governed more by the rules of art 
than it had been in the Elizabethan age, and a colder, more correct style 
arose, attributed partly to the influence of the French writers of the time. 
The literature of Queen Anne's age was essentially a party literature. During 
this period, form was dwelt on more than matter, so that while the prose 
became simple and clear and the poetry reached a neatness of expression, 
nature, passion, and imagination were lacking. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 117 

"And pray," said I, "when am I then to know that I am on 
safe grounds, being totally unacquainted with the Hterary land- 
marks, and the boundary line of fashionable taste ? " 

" Oh ! " replied he, " there is fortunately one tract of hterature 
which forms a kind of neutral ground, on which all the literary 
meet amicably, and run riot in the excess of their good humor ; 
and this is the reigns of Elizabeth ^ and James.^ Here you may 
praise away at random. Here it is ' cut and come again ' ;2 and 
the more obscure the author, and the more quaint and crabbed 
his style, the more your admiration will smack of the real relish 
of the connoisseur, whose taste, Hke that of an epicure, is always 
for game that has an antiquated flavor. 

"But," continued he, "as you seem anxious to know some- 
thing of literary society, I will take an opportunity to introduce 
you to some coterie, where the talents of the day are assembled. 
I cannot promise you, however, that they will all be of the first 
order. Somehow or other, our great geniuses are not gregari- 
ous ; they do not go in flocks, but fly singly in general society. 
They prefer minghng like common men with the multitude, and 
are apt to carry nothing of the author about them but the repu- 
tation. It is only the inferior orders that herd together, acquire 
strength and importance by their confederacies, and bear all the 
distinctive characteristics of their species." 

1 The Elizabethan age, the most glorious era in English literature, dates 
from the accession of Elizabeth to her death (i 559-1603). The age of James 
formed a transition from that of Elizabeth to that of Charles 11. 

2 " Cut and," etc., a hospitable phrase, or phrase of welcome, signifying 
that there is enough for all the guests. 



iiS WASHINGTON IRVING. 



A LITERARY DINNER. 



A FEW days after this conversation with Mr. Buckthorne, he 
called upon me, and took me with him to a regular literary- 
dinner. It was given by a great bookseller, or rather a company 
of booksellers, whose firm surpassed in length that of Shadrach, 
Meshach, and Abednego.^ 

I was surprised to find between twenty and thirty guests assem- 
bled, most of whom I had never seen before. Mr. Buckthorne 
explained this to me by informing me that this was a business 
dinner, or kind of field day which the house gave about twice a 
year to its authors. It is true they did occasionally give snug 
dinners to three or four literary men at a time ; but then these 
were generally select authors, favorites of the public, such as had 
arrived at their sixth or seventh editions. " There are," said he, 
*' certain geographical boundaries in the land of literature, and 
you may judge tolerably well of an author's popularity by the 
wine his bookseller gives him. An author crosses the port hne 
about the third edition, and gets into claret ; and when he has 
reached the sixth or seventh, he may revel in champagne and 
Burgundy." 

"And pray," said I, "how far may these gentlemen have 
reached that I see around me ? Are any of these claret drink- 
ers ? " 

" Not exactly, not exactly. You find at these great dinners 
the common, steady run of authors, one or two edition men, or 
if any others are invited, they are aware that it is a kind of repub- 
lican meeting, — you understand me, — a meeting of the republic 

1 Three men mentioned in the Bible, who, being cast by Nebuchadnezzar, 
King of Babylon, into a fiery furnace, because of their refusal to worship a 
golden image, rose and walked in the midst of the flames (see Daniel iii.). 
The allusion here is merely to the length of the names, being a pun upon 
" Longmans," the name of the booksellers mentioned. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 1 19 

of letters, and that they must expect nothing but plain, substan- 
tial fare." 

These hints enabled me to comprehend more fully the arrange- 
ment of the table. The two ends were occupied by two partners 
of the house ; and the host seemed to have adopted Addison's ^ 
idea as to the literary precedence of his guests. A popular poet 
had the post of honor, opposite to whom was a hotpressed^ 
traveler in quarto with plates. A grave-looking antiquarian, 
who had produced several solid works, that were much quoted 
and little read, was treated with great respect, and seated next 
to a neat, dressy gentleman in black, who had written a thin, 
genteel, hotpressed octavo on political economy, that was get- 
ting into fashion. Several three-volumed duodecimo men, of 
fair currency, were placed about the center of the table, while 
the lower end was taken up with small poets, translators, and 
authors who had not as yet risen into much notoriety. 

The conversation during dinner was by fits and starts, break- 
ing out here and there in various parts of the table in small 
flashes, and ending in smoke. The poet, who had the confidence 
of a man on good terms with the world, and independent of his 
bookseller, was very gay and brilliant, and said many clever 
things which set the partner next him in a roar, and delighted 
all the company. The other partner, however, maintained his 
sedateness, and kept carving on, with the air of a thorough man 
of business, intent upon the occupation of the moment. His 
gravity was explained to me by my friend Buckthorne. He 
informed me that the concerns of the house were admirably dis- 

1 Joseph Addison (1672-1719), English poet and essayist, was joint editor 
with Richard Steele (1671-1729) of two famous English periodicals, The 
Tatler and The Spectator, which discussed everything that went on in the 
world — political and literary disputes, fine gentlemen and ladies, the new 
book, the new play, etc. Addison's work is critical and literary, his humor 
is fine and tender, and his characters are true to life. 

2 Pressed with heat, giving a smooth and glossy surface to paper. Hence, 
" hotpressed traveler," the author of a book on travels considered worthy of 
being printed on good paper. 



120 WASH I XG TON IRVING. 

tributed among the partners. " Thus, for instance," said he, " the 
grave gentleman is the carving partner, who attends to the joints, 
and the other is the laughing partner, who attends to the jokes." 

The general conversation was chiefly carried on at the upper 
end of the table, as the authors there seemed to possess the great- 
est courage of the tongue. As to the crew at the lower end, if 
they did not make much figure in talking, they did in eating. 
Never was there a more determined, inveterate, thoroughly sus- 
tained attack on the trencher than by this phalanx of mastica- 
tors. ^ When the cloth was removed, and the wine began to cir- 
culate, they grew veiy merry and jocose among themselves. 
Their jokes, however, if by chance any of them reached the 
upper end of the table, seldom produced much effect. Even 
the laughing partner did not think it necessary to honor them 
with a smile, which my neighbor Buckthorne accounted for by 
informing me that there was a certain degree of popularity to be 
obtained before a bookseller could afford to laugh at an author's 
jokes. 

Among this crew of questionable gentlemen thus seated below 
the salt,2 my eye singled out one in particular. He was rather 
shabbily dressed, though he had evidently made the most of a 
rusty black coat, and wore his shirt frill plaited and puffed out 
voluminously at the bosom. His face was dusky, but florid, per- 
haps a httle too florid, particularly about the nose, though the 
rosy hue gave the greater luster to a twinkling black eye. He 
had a httle the look of a boon companion, with that dash of the 
poor devil in it which gives an inexpressible mellow tone to a 
man's humor. I had seldom seen a face of richer promise, but 
never was promise so ill kept. He said nothing, ate and drank 
with the keen appetite of a garreteer, and scarcely stopped to 

1 " Phalanx of masticators," i.e., company of eaters. 

2 In former times it was customary among people of rank to place a large 
saltcellar near the middle of a long table, and to assign to guests of distinc- 
tion the places above the salt, and to inferiors, those below it. Hence, " be- 
low the salt " means " in an inferior position." 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 121 

laugh, even at the good jokes from the upper end of the table. 
I inquired who he was. Buckthorne looked at him attentively. 
" Gad ! " said he, '' I have seen that face before, but where I can- 
not recollect. He cannot be an author of any note. I suppose 
some writer of sermons, or grinder of foreign travels." 

After dinner we retired to another room to take tea and coffee, 
where we were reenforced by a cloud of inferior guests, — authors 
of small volumes in boards, and pamphlets stitched in blue paper. 
These had not as yet arrived to the importance of a dinner in- 
vitation, but were invited occasionally to pass the evening in a 
friendly way. They were very respectful to the partners, and, 
indeed, seemed to stand a little in awe of them ; but they paid 
devoted court to the lady of the house, and were extravagantly 
fond of the children. Some few, who did not feel confidence 
enough to make such advances, stood shyly off in corners, talk- 
ing to one another, or turned over the portfolios of prints which 
they had not seen above five thousand times, or moused over ^ 
the music on the forte-piano.- 

The poet and the thin octavo gentleman^ were the persons 
most current and at their ease in the drawing-room, being men 
evidently of circulation in the West End.* They got on each 
side of the lady of the house, and paid her a thousand compli- 
ments and civilities, at some of which I thought she would have 
expired with delight. Everything they said and did had the odor 
of fashionable life. I looked round in vain for the poor-devil 
author in the rusty black coat ; he had disappeared immediately 
after leaving the table, having a dread, no doubt, of the glaring 
light of a drawing-room. Finding nothing further to interest 
my attention, I took my departure soon after coffee had been 
served, leaving the poet, and the thin, genteel, hotpressed octavo 
gentleman, masters of the field. 

1 " Moused over," i.e., glanced slyly over. 

2 Same as pianoforte. 3 Xhe author of the thin octavo book. 

4 The fashionable quarter of London, containing the Palace and the man- 
sions of the aristocracy. 



122 llA^J/J.\'C'JO\ JRl'IXG. 



THE CLUB OF QUEER FELLOWS. 

I THINK it was the very next evening that, in coming out of 
Covent Garden Theater with my eccentric friend Buckthorne, 
he proposed to give me another peep at hfe and character. Find- 
ing me wilHng for any research of the kind, he took me through 
a variety of the narrow courts and lanes about Covent Garden, 
until we stopped before a tavern, from which we heard the bursts 
of merriment of a jovial party. There would be a loud peal of 
laughter, then an interval, then another peal, as if a prime wag 
were telling a story. After a little while there was a song, and 
at the close of each stanza, a hearty roar and a vehement thump- 
ing on the table. 

"This is the place," whispered Buckthorne ; "it is the Club of 
Queer Fellows, a great resort of the small wits, third-rate actors, 
and newspaper critics of the theaters. Any one can go in on 
paying a sixpence at the bar for the use of the club," 

We entered, therefore, without ceremony, and took our seats 
at a lone table in a dusky corner of the room. The club was 
assembled round a table on which stood beverages of various 
kinds, according to the tastes of the individuals. The members 
were a set of queer fellows indeed ; but what was my surprise on 
recognizing, in the prime wit of the meeting, the poor-devil author 
whom I had remarked at the booksellers' dinner for his promis- 
ing face and his complete taciturnity. Matters, however, were 
entirely changed with him. There he was a mere cipher ; here 
he was lord of the ascendant, — the choice spirit, the dominant 
genius. He sat at the head of the table with his hat on, and an 
eye beaming even more luminously than his nose. He had a 
quip and a fillip for every one, and a good thing on every occa- 
sion. Nothing could be said or done without eliciting a spark 
from him, and I solemnly declare I have heard much worse wit 
even from noblemen. His jokes, it must be confessed, were 
rather wet, but they suited the circle over which he presided. 



TALES OF A TRAl'ELKR. 123 

The company were in that maudhn mood when a Httle wit goes 
a great way. Every time he opened his lips there was sure to 
be a roar, and even sometimes before he had time to speak. 

We were fortunate enough to enter in time for a glee composed 
by him expressly for the club, and which he sung with two boon 
companions, who would have been worthy subjects for Hogarth's ^ 
pencil. As they were each provided with a written copy, I was 
enabled to procure the reading of it. 

'' Merrily, merrily push round the glass, 
And merrily troll the glee, 
For he who won't drink till he wink, is an ass ; 
So, neighbor, I drink to thee. 

'* Merrily, merrily fuddle thy nose, 
Until it right rosy shall be ; 
For a jolly red nose, I speak under the rose, 
Is a sign of good company." 

We waited until the party broke up, and no one but the wit 
remained. He sat at the table with his legs stretched under it, 
and wide apart, his hands in his breeches pockets, his head 
drooped upon his breast, and gazing with lackluster countenance 
on an empty tankard. His gayety was gone, his fire completely 
quenched. . 

My companion approached, and startled him from his fit of 
brown study, introducing himself on the strength of their having 
dined together at the booksellers'. 

** By the way," said he, " it seems to me I have seen you 
before ; your face is surely that of an old acquaintance, though 
for the life of me I cannot tell where I have known you." 

1 William Hogarth (i 697-1 764), an English artist, whose work is of a 
satirical character. He painted pictures in which he portrayed some great 
moral truth by satirizing the steps downward from the right path. 



124 WASHING TOX IRVING. 

"Very likely," replied he, with a smile, "many of my old 
friends have forgotten me ; though, to tell the truth, my mem- 
ory in this instance is as bad as your own. If, however, it will 
assist your recollection in any w-ay, my name is Thomas Dribble, 
at your sen-ice." 

" What ! Tom Dribble, who was at old Birchell's school in 
Warwickshire ? " ^ 

" The same," said the other coolly. 

" Why, then, we are old schoolmates, though it's no wonder 
you don't recollect me. I was your junior by several years ; 
don't you recollect little Jack Buckthorne ? " 

Here there ensued a scene of schoolfellow recognition, and 
a world of talk about old school times and school pranks. Mr. 
Dribble ended by observing, with a hea\'y sigh, that times were 
sadly changed since those days. 

" Faith, Mr. Dribble," said I, " you seem quite a different man 
here from what you were at dinner. I had no idea that you had 
so much stuff in you. There you were all silence, but here you 
absolutely keep the table in a roar." 

" Ah ! my dear sir," replied he, with a shake of the head, and 
a shrug of the shoulder, "I am a mere glowworm. I never 
shine by dayhght. Besides, it's a hard thing for a poor devil 
of an author to shine at the table of a rich bookseller. Who do 
you think would laugh at anything I could say, when I had some 
of the current wits of the day about me ? But here, though a 
poor devil, I am among still poorer devils than myself, — men 
who look up to me as a man of letters, and a bel esprit^ and all 
my jokes pass as sterling gold from the mint." 

" You surely do yourself injustice, sir," said I ; " I have cer- 

1 Warwickshire, or Warwick, is a county of England, whose capital, War- 
wick, is on the right bank of the Avon, twenty miles southeast of Birming- 
ham, and two and a half miles west of Leamington. Between the town of 
Warwick and the river, on a steep hill, is W^arwick Castle, one of the most 
perfect and magnificent feudal fortresses in England. 

2 A man of wit or brilliant mind. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 125 

tainly heard more good things from you this evening than from 
any of those beaux esprits by whom you appear to have been so 
daunted." 

" Ah, sir ! but they have luck on their side ; they are in the 
fashion. There's nothing hke being in fashion. A man that has 
once got his character up for a wit is always sure of a laugh, say 
what he may. He may utter as much nonsense as he pleases, 
and all will pass current. No one stops to question the coin of 
a rich man ; but a poor devil cannot pass off either a joke or a 
guinea without its being examined on both sides. Wit and coin 
are always doubted with a threadbare coat. 

" For my part," continued he, giving his hat a twitch a little 
more on one side, " for my part, I hate your fine dinners ; there's 
nothing, sir, like the freedom of a chophouse. I'd rather, any 
time, ha\'e my steak and tankard among my own set than drink 
claret and eat venison with your cursed civil, elegant company, 
who never laugh at a good joke from a poor devil for fear of its 
being vulgar. A good joke grows in a wet soil ; it flourishes in 
low places, but withers on your d — d high, dry grounds. I once 
kept high company, sir, until I nearly ruined myself, I grew so 
dull, and vapid, and genteel. Nothing saved me but being ar- 
rested by my landlady, and thrown into prison, where a course 
of catch-clubs,^ eightpenny ale, and poor-devil company, manured 
my mind, and brought it back to itself again." 

As it was now growing late, we parted for the evening, though 
I felt anxious to know more of this practical philosopher. I was 
glad, therefore, when Buckthorne proposed to have another meet- 
ing to talk over old school times, and inquired his schoolmate's 
address. The latter seemed at first a little shy of naming his 
lodgings, but suddenly, assuming an air of hardihood, " Green- 
arbor Court, sir," exclaimed he, " Number in Green-arbor 

Court. You must know the place. Classic ground, sir, classic 

1 Clubs formed for singing catches, which are songs designed to give 
ludicrous effects to the different verses or parts. 



126 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

ground ! It was there Goldsmith i wrote his ' Vicar of Wake- 
field.' I always like to live in literary haunts." 

I was amused with this whimsical apology for shabby quarters. 
On our way homewards, Buckthorne assured me that this Drib- 
ble had been the prime wit and great wag of the school in their 
boyish days, and one of those unlucky urchins denominated 
" bright geniuses." As he perceived me curious respecting his 
old schoolmate, he promised to take me with him in his proposed 
visit to Green-arbor Court. 

A few mornings afterwards he called upon me, and we set forth 
on our expedition. He led me through a variety of singular 
alleys, and courts, and bhnd passages, for he appeared to be per- 
fectly versed in all the intricate geography of the metropohs. 
At length we came out upon Fleet Market, and traversing it, 
turned up a narrow street to the bottom of a long, steep flight of 
stone steps, called Breakneck Stairs. These, he told me, led up to 
Green-arbor Court, and that down them poor Goldsmith might 
many a time have risked his neck. When we entered the court, 
I could not but smile to think in what out-of-the-way corners 
genius produces her bantlings ! And the Muses, those capricious 
dames, who, forsooth, so often refuse to visit palaces, and deny 
a single smile to votaries in splendid studies, and gilded drawing- 
rooms, — what holes and burrows will they frequent to lavish their 
favors on some ragged disciple ! 

This Green-arbor Court I found to be a small square, sur- 
rounded by tall and miserable houses, the very intestines of 
which seemed turned inside out, to judge from the old garments 
and frippery fluttering from every window. It appeared to be a 



1 Oliver Goldsmith (1728-74), Irish poet, historian, and novelist. His 
verse is noted for its grace and simplicity. His best-known works are The 
Deserted Village, his novel, The Vicar of Wakefield, and a series of letters 
called The Citizen of the World. Goldsmith was always in straits of poverty 
and in pecuniary difficulties. Even when his popularity was at its height and 
his income greatly increased, his extravagance and lavish generosity kept him 
constantly in debt, for which he was frequently under arrest. 



TALES or A TRAVELER. 12'j 

region of washerwomen, and lines were stretched about the httle 
square, on which clothes were dangling to dry. 

Just as we entered the square, a scuffle took place between 
two viragoes about a disputed right to a washtub, and immedi- 
ately the whole community was in a hubbub. Heads in mob- 
caps popped out of every window, and such a clamor of tongues 
ensued that I was fain to stop my ears. Every amazon took 
part with one or other of the disputants, and brandished her arms, 
dripping with soapsuds, and fired away from her window as from 
the embrasure of a fortress, while the swarms of children, nestled 
and cradled in every procreant chamber of this hive, waking with 
the noise, set up their shrill pipes to swell the general concert. 

Poor Goldsmith ! what a time he must have had of it, with 
his quiet disposition and nervous habits, penned up in this den 
of noise and vulgarity ! How strange, that while every sight 
and sound was sufficient to imbitter the heart, and fill it with 
misanthropy, his pen should be dropping the honey of Hybla ! ^ 
Yet it is more than probable that he drew many of his inimitable 
pictures of low life from the scenes which surrounded him in this 
abode. The circumstance of Mrs. Tibbs ^ being obliged to wash 
her husband's two shirts in a neighbor's house, who refused to 
lend her washtub, may have been no sport of fancy, but a fact 
passing under his own eye. His landlady may have sat for the 
picture, and Beau Tibbs's scanty wardrobe have been a facsimile 
of his own. 

It was with some difficulty that we found our way to Dribble's 
lodgings. They were up two pairs of stairs, in a room that looked 

1 A mountain in Switzerland famed for the sweetness of the honey pro- 
duced there. 

2 Mrs. Tibbs was the wife of Beau Tibbs (a character in Goldsmith's 
Citizen of the World), a poor fellow who imagined that he knew the best 
society, that his garret was the choicest spot in London, and his wife (a slat- 
tern and coquette) a lady of distinction. On one occasion he brought to his 
garret a distinguished ambassador. " Where's my lady.-*" he asked of the 
Scotch servant. " She's a- washing your twa shirts at the next door, because 
they won't lend us the tub any longer," was the reply. 



128 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

upon the court, and when we entered he was seated on the edge 
of his bed, writing at a broken table. He received tis, however, 
with a free, open, poor-devil air that was irresistible. It is true 
he did at first appear slightly confused, buttoned up his waistcoat 
a httle higher, and tucked in a stray frill of linen. But he recol- 
lected himself in an instant, gave a half swagger, half leer, as he 
stepped forth to receive us, drev/ a three-legged stool for Mr. 
Buckthorne, pointed me to a lumbering old damask chair that 
looked hke a dethroned monarch in exile, and bade us welcome 
to his garret. 

We soon got engaged in conversation. Buckthorne and he 
had much to say about early school scenes, and as nothing opens 
a man's heart more than recollections of the kind, we soon drew 
from him a brief outhne of his literary career. 



THE POOR-DEVIL AUTHOR. 

I BEGAN hfe unluckily by being the wag and bright fellow at 
school, and I had the further misfortune of becoming the 
great genius of my native village. My father was a country at- 
torney, and intended I should succeed him in business, but I had 
too much genius to study, and he was too fond of my genius to 
force it into the traces,^ so I fell into bad company, and took 
to bad habits. Do not mistake me. I mean that I fell into the 
company of village literati 2 and village blues,^ and took to writ- 
ing village poetry. 

It was quite the fashion in the village to be Hterary. There 
was a little knot of choice spirits of us, who assembled frequently 
together, formed ourselves into a Literary, Scientific, and Philo- 
sophical Society, and fancied ourselves the most learned Philos * 

1 " Into the traces," i.e., into steady employment. 

- Literary men. ^ Same as bluestockings (see Note 3, p. 23). 

^ Lovers of literature and the sciences. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 129 

in existence. Every one had a great character assigned him, 
suggested by some casual habit or affectation. One heavy fellow- 
drank an enormous quantity of tea, rolled in his armchair, talked 
sententiously, pronounced dogmatically, and w^as considered a 
second Dr. Johnson ;i another, who happened to be a curate, 
uttered coarse jokes, wrote doggerel rhymes, and was the Swift - 
of our association. Thus we had also our Popes ^ and Gold- 
smiths, and Addisons, and a bluestocking lady, whose draw- 
ing-room we frequented, who corresponded about nothing with 
all the world, and wrote letters with the stiffness and formality 
of a printed book, was cried up as another Mrs. Montagu.'^ I 
was by common consent the juvenile prodigy, the poetical youth, 
the great genius, the pride and hope of the village, through whom 
it was to become one day as celebrated as Stratford-on-Avon.^ 

My father died, and left me his blessing and his business. His 
blessing brought no money into my pocket, and as to his business, 

1 Samuel Johnson (1709-84), English miscellaneous writer, author of Dic- 
tionary of the English Language, Rasselas, and Lives of the English Poets, 
holds a unique place in English literature. He was noted for his wonderful 
conversational powers, and " talked as well as wrote literature." His passion 
for tea drinking was remarkable ; it is said that at one time he drank twenty 
cups at one sitting. 

2 Jonathan Swift (1667-1775), English author. He was noted for his 
sarcasm and humor, but this humor was often of a very coarse nature. Gul- 
liver's Travels and the Battle of the Books are his most popular works. 

3 Alexander Pope (1688-1744), an English poet of finished verse, but of 
no great originality. His most important poems are The Essay on Man and 
the Dunciad. 

* Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (1690-1762), a celebrated English writer. 
In 1 716 she accompanied her husband on his embassy to Constantinople, 
from which place she wrote to Pope, Addison, and other prominent men of 
the time, letters describing the scenes and customs of the East. These with 
others were published after her death, and rendered her name famous to 
posterity. 

5 A town of England on the north bank of the Avon, famous as the birth- 
place of William Shakespeare. The Avon is a river which flows through 
Warwickshire County, England, and is rich in its associations with vShake- 
speare. 

9 



130 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

it soon deserted me, for I was busy writing poetry, and could 
not attend to law, and my clients, though they had great respect 
for my talents, had no faith in a poetical attorney. 

I lost my business, therefore, spent my money, and finished 
my poem. It was '' The Pleasures of Melancholy," and was cried 
up to the skies by the whole circle. The " Pleasures of Imagi- 
nation," ^ the "Pleasures of Hope," 2 and the "Pleasures of 
Memory," ^ though each had placed its author in the first rank of 
poets, were blank prose in comparison. Our Mrs. Montagu would 
cry over it from beginning to end. It was pronounced by all the 
members of the Literary, Scientific, and Philosophical Society 
the greatest poem of the age, and all anticipated the noise it 
would make in the great world. There was not a doubt but the 
London booksellers would be mad after it, and the only fear of 
my friends was that I would make a sacrifice by selling it too 
cheap. Every time they talked the matter over, they increased 
the price. They reckoned up the great sums given for the poems 
of certain popular writers, and determined that mine was worth 
more than all put together, and ought to be paid for accordingly. 
For my part, I was modest in my expectations, and determined 
that I would be satisfied with a thousand guineas. So I put my 
poem in my pocket, and set off for London. 

My journey was joyous. My heart was light as my purse, and 
my head full of anticipations of fame and fortune. With what 
swelling pride did I cast my eyes upon old London from the 
heights of Highgate ! ^ I was like a general looking down upon 
a place he expects to conquer. The great metropolis lay stretched 
before me, buried under a homemade cloud of murky smoke, 
that wrapped it from the brightness of a sunny day, and formed 
for it a kind of artificial bad weather. At the outskirts of the 

1 By Mark Akenside, English poet (1721-70). 

2 By Thomas Campbell, Scotch poet (i 777-1844). 

3 By Samuel Rogers, English poet (1763-1855). 

4 A village of Middlesex County, England, situated on a hill to the north 
of London, and commanding a fine view of the city. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 131 

city, away to the west, the smoke gradually decreased until all 
was clear and sunny, and the view stretched uninterrupted to the 
blue hne of the Kentish hills. 

My eye turned fondly to where the mighty cupola of St. Paul's ^ 
swelled dimly through this misty chaos, and I pictured to myself 
the solemn realm of learning that lies about its base. How soon 
should " The Pleasures of Melancholy " throw this world of book- 
sellers and printers into a bustle of business and dehght ! How 
soon should I hear my name repeated by printers' devils through- 
out Paternoster Row, and Angel Court, and Ave Maria Lane, 
until Amen Corner'- should echo back the sound! 

Arrived in town, I repaired at once to the most fashionable 
publisher. Every new author patronizes him of course. In fact, 
it had been determined in the village circle that he should be the 
fortunate man. I cannot tell you how vaingloriously I walked 
the streets. ]\[y head was in the clouds. I felt the airs of heaven 
playing about it, and fancied it already encircled by a halo of lit- 
erary glory. As I passed by the windows of bookshops, I antici- 
pated the time when my work would be shining among the hot- 
pressed wonders of the day, and my face scratched on copper, 
or cut on wood, figuring in fellowship with those of Scott,^ and 
B}Ton,^ and Moore. ^ 

1 St. Paul's Cathedral, which stands in the heart of London, is the third 
largest church in the world. Its dome is the finest in the world. 

2 Before the Reformation, in the early part of the sixteenth century, the 
clergy walked annually in a procession to St. Paul's Cathedral on Corpus 
Christi Day. They mustered at the upper end of Cheapside, and there com- 
menced to chant the Paternoster, which they continued the Avhole length of 
the street, hence called Paternoster Row, pronouncing the Amen at the spot 
now called Amen Corner. Then commencing the Ave Maria, they turned 
down Ave Maria Lane. After crossing Ludgate, they chanted the Credo in 
Creed Lane. 

3 See Note i, p. 23. 

4 Lord George Gordon Byron (i 788-1824), English poet, author of Childe 
Harold. 

5 Thomas Moore (i 780-1852), Irish poet, author of Irish Melodies, Lalla 
Rookh, Loves of the Angels, etc. 



132 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

When I applied at the pubhsher's house, there was something 
in the loftiness of my air, and the dinginess of my dress, that 
struck the clerks with reverence. They doubtless took me for 
some person of consequence, probably a digger of Greek roots, 
or a penetrator of pyramids. A proud man in a dirty shirt is 
always an imposing character in the world of letters. One must 
feel intellectually secure before he can venture to dress shabbily ; 
none but a great genius, or a great scholar, dares to be dirty ; so 
I was ushered at once to the saiictiuii saiictonim ^ of this high 
priest of Minerva. 2 

The publishing of books is a very different affair nowadays 
from what it was' in the time of Bernard Lintot.^^ I found the 
publisher a fashionably dressed man, in an elegant drawing-room, 
furnished with sofas, and portraits of celebrated authors, and 
cases of splendidly bound books. He was writing letters at an 
elegant table. This was transacting business in style. The place 
seemed suited to the magnificent publications that issued from it. 
I rejoiced at the choice I had made of a publisher, for I always 
liked to encourage men of taste and spirit. 

I stepped up to the table with the lofty poetical port I had 
been accustomed to maintain in our village circle, though I threw 
in it something of a patronizing air, such as one feels when about 
to make a man's fortune. The publisher paused with his pen in 
hand, and seemed waiting in mute suspense to know what was to 
be announced by so singular an apparition. 

I put him at his ease in a moment, for I felt that I had but 
to come, see, and conquer. I made known my name, and the 
name of my poem, produced my precious roll of blotted manu- 
script, laid it on the table with an emphasis, and told him at once, 

1 Holy of holies, the most holy place in a Jewish temple ; hence, a place 
of retreat. 

2 In classical mythology, the goddess of wisdom and the patroness of the 
arts and sciences. 

3 A famous bookseller of the eighteenth century, the publisher of several 
of Alexander Pope's works. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 133 

to save lime, and come directly to the point, — the price was one 
thousand guineas. 

I had given him no time to speak, nor did he seem so inchned. 
He continued looking at me for a moment with an air of whim- 
sical perplexity, scanned me from head to foot, looked down at 
the manuscript, then up again at me, then pointed to a chair, and 
whistling softly to himself, went on writing his letter. 

I sat for some time waiting his reply, supposing he was mak- 
ing up his mind ; but he only paused occasionally to take a fresh 
dip of ink, to stroke his chin, or the tip of his nose, and then re- 
sumed his writing. It was evident his mind was intently occupied 
upon some other subject ; but I had no idea that any other sub- 
ject could be attended to, and my poem lie unnoticed on the 
table. I had supposed that everything would make way for '' The 
Pleasures of Melancholy." 

My gorge at length rose within me.^ I took up my manu- 
script, thrust it into my pocket, and walked out of the room, 
making some noise as I went out, to let my departure be heard. 
The publisher, however, was too much buried in minor concerns 
to notice it. I was suffered to walk downstairs without being 
called back. I sallied forth into the street, but no clerk was sent 
after me, nor did the publisher call after me from the drawing- 
room window. I have been told since that he considered me 
either a madman or a fool. I leave you to judge how much he 
was in the wrong in his opinion. 

When I turned the corner my crest fell. I cooled down in 
my pride and my expectations, and reduced my terms with the 
next bookseller to whom I appHed. I had no better success, nor 
with a third, nor with a fourth. I then desired the booksellers 
to make an offer themselves, but the deuce an offer would they 
make. They told me poetry was a mere drug ; everybody wrote 
poetry ; the market was overstocked with it. And then they said 
the title of my poem was not taking ; that pleasures of all kinds 
were worn threadbare ; nothing but horrors did nowadays, and 

1 " My gorge," etc., i.e., I was filled with indignation. 



134 IVASHIKGTOX IRVIXG. 

even those were almost worn out. Tales of pirates, robbers, and 
bloody Turks, might answer tolerably well ; but then they must 
come from some established, well-known name, or the public 
would not look at them. 

At last I offered to leave my poem with a bookseller to read 

it and judge for himself. " Why, really, my dear Mr. a — 

a — I forget your name," said he, casting his eye at my rusty 
coat and shabby gaiters, "really, sir, we are so pressed with busi- 
ness just now, and have so many manuscripts on hand to read, 
that we have not time to look at any new productions ; but if you 
can call again in a week or two, or say the middle of next month, 
we may be able to look over your writings, and give you an 
answer. Don't forget, the month after next; good morning, sir; 
happy to see you at any time you are passing this way." So say- 
ing, he bowed me out in the civilest way imaginable. In short, 
sir, instead of an eager competition to secure my poem, I could 
not even get it read ! In the mean time I was harassed by letters 
from my friends, \vanting to know when the work was to appear, 
who was to be my publisher, and above all things warning me 
not to let it go too cheap. 

There was but one alternative left. I determined to publish 
the poem myself, and to have my triumph over the booksellers 
when it should become the fashion of the day. I accordingly 
pubhshed "The Pleasures of Melancholy," and ruined myself. 
Excepting the copies sent to the reviews, and to my friends in 
the country, not one, I believe, ever left the bookseller's ware- 
house. The printer's bill drained my purse, and the only notice 
that was taken of my work was contained in the advertisements 
paid for by myself. 

I could have borne all this, and have attributed it, as usual, 
to the mismanagement of the publisher, or the want of taste in 
the public, and could have made the usual appeal to posterity ; 
but my village friends would not let me rest in quiet. They were 
picturing me to themselves feasting with the great, communing 
with the literary, and in the high career of fortune and renown. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 135 

Every little while some one would call on me with a letter of 
introduction from the village circle, recommending him to my 
attentions, and requesting that I would make him known in 
society, with a hint that an introduction to a celebrated literary 
nobleman would be extremely agreeable. I determined, there- 
fore, to change my lodgings, drop my correspondence, and dis- 
appear altogether from the view of my village admirers. Besides, 
I was anxious to make one more poetic attempt. I was by no 
means disheartened by the failure of my first. My poem w^as 
evidently too didactic. The public was wise enough. It no 
longer read for instruction. " They want horrors, do they ? " 
said I : " I' faith ! then they shall have enough of them." So I 
looked out for some quiet, retired place, where I might be out of 
the reach of my friends, and have leisure to cook up some delec- 
table dish of poetical "hellbroth." 

1 had some difficulty in finding a place to my mind, when 
chance threw me in the way of Canonbury Castle. ^ It is an 
ancient brick tower hard by ^ "merry Islington," the remains of 
a hunting seat of Queen Elizabeth, where she took the pleasure 
of the country when the neighborhood was all woodland. What 
gave it particular interest in my eyes was the circumstance that 
it had been the residence of a poet. 

It was here Goldsmith resided when he wrote his " Deserted 
Village." I was shown the very apartment. It was a relic of 
the original style of the castle, with paneled wainscots and Gothic 
windows. I was pleased with its air of antiquity, and with its 
having been the residence of poor "Goldy." 

"Goldsmith was a pretty poet," said I to myself, "a very 
pretty poet, though rather of the old school. He did not think 

^ Canonbury Castle is near Islington, a suburb of London, which was an 
occasional rural retreat of Queen Elizabeth. The castle is part of an old 
mansion erected by the canons of St. Bartholomew, and is rendered interesting 
from having been frequently the hiding place of Goldsmith when threatened 
with arrest. Here he wrote The Deserted Village and the Vicar of Wakefield. 

2 " Hard bv," i.e., near. 



136 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

and feel so strongly as is the fashion nowadays ; but had he lived 
in these times of hot hearts and hot heads, he would, no doubt, 
have written quite differently." 

In a few days I was quietly established in my new quarters, — 
my books all arranged, my writing desk placed by a window look- 
ing out into the fields ; and I felt as snug as Robinson Crusoe,^ 
when he had finished his bower. For several days I enjoyed all 
the novelty of the change, and the charms which grace new lodg- 
ings before one has found out their defects. I rambled about 
the fields where I fancied Goldsmith had rambled. I explored 
merry Islington, ate my solitary dinner at the Black Bull, which, 
according to tradition, was a country seat of Sir Walter Raleigh,^ 
and would sit and sip my wine, and muse on old times, in a 
quaint old room, where many a council had been held. 

All this did very well for a few days. I was stimulated by 
novelty, inspired by the associations awakened in my mind by 
these curious haunts, and began to think I felt the spirit of com- 
position stirring within me. But Sunday came, and with it the 
whole city world swarming about Canonbury Castle. I could 
not open my window but I was stunned with shouts and noises 
from the cricket ground ; the late quiet road beneath my window 
was alive with the tread of feet and clack of tongues, and, to com- 
plete my misery, I found that my quiet retreat was absolutely a 
"show house," the tower and its contents being shown to strangers 
at sixpence a head. 

There was a perpetual tramping upstairs of citizens and their 
families to look about the country from the top of the tower, 
and to take a peep at the city through the telescope, to try if 

1 The hero of Daniel Defoe's story of the same name, who, being wrecked 
on an uninhabited island, led for many years a solitary existence, the monotony 
of which he relieved by many ingenious contrivances. The tale was founded 
on the adventures of Alexander Selkirk, who was left on the desolate island 
of Juan Fernandez for over four years. 

2 English admiral and courtier (1552-1618), a favorite of Queen Eliza- 
beth. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 137 

they could discern their own chimneys. And then, in the midst 
of a vein of thought, or a moment of inspiration, I was inter- 
rupted, and all my ideas put to flight, by my intolerable land- 
lady's tapping at the door, and asking me if I would "just please 
to let a lady and gentleman come in to take a look at Mr. Gold- 
smith's room." If you know anything of what an author's study 
is, and what an author is himself, you must know that there was 
no standing this. I put positive interdict on my room's being 
exhibited ; but then it was shown when I was absent, and my 
papers put in confusion, and, on returning home one day I abso- 
lutely found a cursed tradesman and his daughters gaping over 
my manuscripts, and my landlady in a panic at my appearance. 
I tried to make out ^ a little longer by taking the key in my 
pocket, but it would not do. I overheard mine hostess one day 
telling some of her customers on the stairs that the room was 
occupied by an author, who was always in a tantrum if inter- 
rupted, and I immediately perceived, by a slight noise at the 
door, that they were peeping at me through the keyhole. By 
the head of Apollo,^ but this was quite too much ! With all my 
eagerness for fame, and my ambition of the stare of the million, 
I had no idea of being exhibited by retail, at sixpence a head, 
and that through a keyhole. So I bade adieu to Canonbury Cas- 
tle, merry Islington, and the haunts of poor Goldsmith, without 
having advanced a single line in my labors. 

My next quarters were at a small, whitewashed cottage, which 
stands not far from Hampstead,^ just on the brow of a hill, look- 
ing over Chalk Farm ^ and Camden Town,^ remarkable for the 



1 " To make out," i.e., to endure it. 

2 The sun god among the Greeks and Romans, noted for his grace and 
manly beauty. 

3 A village of England in Middlesex County, a favorite resort of Lon- 
doners on holidays. 

* Chalk Farm, at the foot of Primrose Hill (see Note i, p. 139), was a 
retired spot on which many duels were fought. 

5 A suburb of London, three and a half miles northwest of St. Paul's. 



o 



8 WASHINGTON IRVING. 



rival houses of Mother Red Cap and Mother Black Cap,i and 
so across Crackskull Common ^ to the distant city. 

The cottage was in nowise remarkable in itself, but I regarded 
it with reverence, for it had been the asylum of a persecuted 
author. Hither poor Steele had retreated, and lain perdu ^ when 
persecuted by creditors and bailiffs, — those immemorial plagues 
of authors and free-spirited gentlemen ; and here he had written 
many numbers of the " Spectator." ■* It was hence, too, that he 
had dispatched those little notes to his lady, so full of affection 
and whimsicality, in which the fond husband, the careless gen- 
tleman, and the shifting spendthrift, were so oddly blended. I 
thought, as I first eyed the window of his apartment, that I could 
sit within it and write volumes. 

No such thing. It w^as haymaking season, and, as ill luck 
would have it, immediately opposite the cottage was a little ale- 
house, with the sign of the Load of Hay. Whether it was there 
in Steele's time I cannot say, but it set all attempts at concep- 
tion or inspiration at defiance. It was the resort of all the Irish 
haymakers who mow the broad fields in the neighborhood, and 
of drovers and teamsters who travel that road. Here they would 
gather in the endless summer twilight, or by the light of the har- 
vest moon, and sit around a table at the door, and tipple and 
laugh and quarrel and fight, and sing drowsy songs, and dawdle 
away the hours, until the deep, solemn notes of St. Paul's clock 
would warn the varlets home. 

In the daytime I was less able to write. It was broad sum- 

1 " Mother Red Cap " and " Mother Black Cap " were two old inns which 
nearly faced each other in High Street, Camden Town. The original pro- 
prietor of the former, who was regarded as a witch, derived her name, 
" Mother Red Cap," from the red cap which she wore. The other inn, 
" Mother Black Cap," was started and named in opposition to " Mother Red 
Cap." Two modern buildings bearing the same name now occupy the sites 
of these old inns. 

2 Crackskull Common, which formerly extended eastward from Hampstead, 
is no longer known as a locality. 

3 In concealment. 4 See Note I, p. 119. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 139 

mer. The haymakers were at work in the fields, and the per- 
fume of the new-mown hay brought with it the recollection of 
my native fields. So instead of remaining in my room to write, 
I went wandering about Primrose HiU,! and Hampstead Heights, 
and Shepherd's Fields,^ and all those Arcadian ^ scenes so cele- 
brated by London bards. I cannot tell you how many deli- 
cious hours I have passed, lying on the cocks of the new-mown 
hay, on the pleasant slopes of some of those hills, inhaling the 
fragrance of the fields, while the summer fly buzzed about me, 
or the grasshopper leaped into my bosom ; and how I have 
gazed with half shut eye upon the smoky mass of London, and 
listened to the distant sound of its population, and pitied the poor 
sons of earth toiHng in its bowels, like gnomes in the " dark gold 
mines." 

People may say what they please about cockney* pastorals, 
but, after all, there is a vast deal of rural beauty about the west- 
ern vicinity of London, and any one that has looked down upon 
the valley of the West End, with its soft bosom of green pastur- 
age lying open to the south, and dotted with cattle, the steeple 
of Hampstead rising among rich groves on the brow of the hill, 
and the learned height of Harrow ^ in the distance, will confess 
that never has he seen a more absolutely rural landscape in the 
vicinity of a great metropolis. 

Still, however, I found myself not a whit better off for my fre- 

1 A hill which commands a fine and extensive view of London. It is now 
laid out into walks and serves as a public garden, but formerly it was secluded 
and free from public notice. 

2 Shepherd's Fields, which formerly extended westward from Hampstead, 
is now built up, and is known as West Hampstead. 

3 Pertaining to Arcadia, which was a mountainous, picturesque district 
of Greece, where the people were distinguished for contentment and rural 
happiness; hence " ideally rural." 

* A contemptuous term for natives of London. 

5 A town in Middlesex County, England, ten miles northwest of London, 
finely situated on the summit of a high hill. The Grammar School at Harrow, 
founded in 1571, is one of the most famous in England, 



I40 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

c]uent change of lodgings, and I began to discover that in htera- 
ture, as in trade, the old proverb holds good, " a rolling stone 
gathers no moss." 

The tranquil beauty of the country played the very vengeance 
with me. I could not mount my fancy into the termagant vein. 
I could not conceive, amidst the smiling landscape, a scene of 
blood and murder, and the smug citizens in breeches and gaiters 
put all ideas of heroes and bandits out of my brain. I could 
think of nothing but dulcet subjects, — " The Pleasures of Spring," 
" The Pleasures of Sohtude," " The Pleasures of Tranquillity," 
"The Pleasures of Sentiment," — nothing but pleasures; and I 
had the painful experience of " The Pleasures of Melancholy " 
too strongly in my recollection to be beguiled by them. 

Chance at length befriended me. I had frequently in my 
ramblings loitered about Hampstead Hill, which is a kind of 
Parnassus ^ of the metropolis. At such times I occasionally took 
my dinner at Jack Straw's Castle.- It is a country inn so named, 
the very spot where that notorious rebel and his followers held 
their council of war. It is a favorite resort of citizens when 
rurally inclined, as it commands fine fresh air, and a good view 
of the city. I sat one day in the public room of this inn, rumi- 
nating over a beefsteak and a pint of porter, when my imagina- 
tion kindled up with ancient and heroic images. I had long 
wanted a theme and a hero ; both suddenly broke upon my 
mind. I determined to write a poem on the history of Jack 
Straw. I was so full of the subject that I was fearful of being 
anticipated. I wondered that none of the poets of the day, in 
their search after ruffian heroes, had ever thought of Jack Straw. 
I went to work pellmell, blotted several sheets of paper with 

1 A mountain near Delphi in Greece, sacred to Apollo and the nine Muses, 
who presided over song and the different kinds of poetry ; hence, any region 
of poetry. 

2 A comfortable hostlery and public house on the highest part of Hamp- 
stead Heath. Jack Straw was a priest, who, with John Kail of Kent, took a 
leading part in Wat Tyler's rebellion of 1 831, and was executed the same year. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 141 

choice floating thoughts, and battles, and descriptions, to be 
ready at a moment's warning. In a few days' time I sketched 
out the skeleton of my poem, and nothing was wanting but to 
give it flesh and blood. I used to take my manuscript and stroll 
about Caen Wood,i and rea.d aloud, and would dine at the Cas- 
tle, by way of keeping up the vein of thought. 

I was there one day, at rather a late hour, in the public room. 
There was no other company but one man, who sat enjoying his 
pint of porter at the window, and noticing the passers-by. He 
was dressed in a green shooting coat. His countenance was 
strongly marked ; he had a hooked nose, a romantic eye, except- 
ing that it had something of a squint, and altogether, as I thought, 
a poetical style of head. I was quite taken with the man, for 
you must know I am a httle of a physiognomist. I set him down 
at once for either a poet or a philosopher. 

As I like to make new acquaintances, considering every man 
a volume of human nature, I soon fell into conversation with the 
stranger, who, I was pleased to find, was by no means difficult 
of access. After I had dined I joined him at the window, and 
we became so sociable that I proposed a bottle of wine together, 
to which he most cheerfully assented. 

I was too full of my poem to keep long quiet on the subject, 
and began to talk about the origin of the tavern, and the histor^^ 
of Jack Straw. I found my new acquaintance to be perfectly at 
home on the topic, and to jump exactly with my humor in every 
respect. I became elevated by the wine and the conversation. 
In the fullness of an author's feelings I told him of my projected 
poem, and repeated some passages, and he was in raptures. He 
was evidently of a strong poetical turn. 

" Sir," said he, filling my glass at the same time, " our poets 
don't look at home. I don't see why we need go out of old 
England for robbers and rebels to write about. I like your Jack 
Straw, sir; he's a homemade hero. I like him, sir — I like him 

1 Caen Wood, or Kenwood, the superb villa of the Earl of Mansfield, lies 
between Hampstead and High gate. 



14^ WASHING TO X IRVIXG. 

exceedingly. He's English to the backbone — damme — give 
me honest old England after all ! Them's mv sentiments, sir." 

"I honor your sentiment," cried I, zealously; "it is exactly 
my own. An English ruffian is as good a ruffian for poetry as 
any in Italy, or Germany, or the Archipelago ; ^ but it is hard to 
make oiu* poets think so." 

" More shame for them I " rephed the man in green. " What 
a plague - would they have ? ^Vhat have we to do with their 
Archipelagos of Italy and Germany ? Haven't we heaths and 
commons and highways on our own httle island — ay, and stout 
fellows to pad the hoof '^ over them too ? Stick to home, I sav ; 
them's my sentiments. Come sir, my service to you. I agree 
with you perfectly." 

" Poets, in old times, had right notions on this subject," con- 
tinued I ; " witness the fine old ballads about Robin Hood,^ Allan 
a'Dale,^ and other stanch blades of yore." 

" Right, sir, right," interrupted he. " Robin Hood ! he was 
the lad to cry "stand " to a man, and never to flinch." 

"Ah, sir," said I, "they had famous bands of robbers in the 
good old times ; those were glorious poetical days. The merr)- 
crew of Sherwood Forest, who led such a roving, picturesque life 
'under the greenwood tree,' — ^ I have often wished to visit 

1 The Grecian Archipelago, or -tgean Sea, that part of the Mediterranean 
lying between Asia Minor, Greece, and Turkey, and studded with islands. 

2 " What a plague," a mere exclamation, like "what in the worldl" 

3 " To pad the hoof," i.e., to travel on foot. 

* Robin Hood, a famous English outlaw, whose exploits are the subject of 
many ballads, but of whose actual existence little evidence can be ol)tained. 
He is supposed to have been Fitzooth, Earl of Huntingdon ( 1 160-1247), 
born at Locksley in the reign of Henry 11. Ha\-ing outrun his fortune and 
being outlawed, he lived as a freebooter, chiefly in the forest of Sherwood in 
Nottinghamshire. He was a prince among robbers, and is noted for his gen- 
erosity, personal courage, and skill in archery. Allan-a-Dale was one of 
Robin Hood's men. 

5 " Under the greenwood tree, 
Who loves to lie with me." etc. 

Song from Shakespeare's .\s You Like It. act ii., sc. 5. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 143 

their haunts, and tread the scenes of the exploits of Friar Tuck/ 
and Clym of the Clough, and Sir WiUiam of Cloudshe." - 

"Nay, sir," said the gentleman in green, "we have had sev- 
eral very pretty gangs since that day. Those gallant dogs that 
kept about the great heaths in the neighborhood of London, — 
about Bagshot, Hounslow, and Blackheath,-^ for instance. Come, 
sir, my service to you. You don't drink." 

" I suppose," cried I, emptying my glass, " I suppose you have 
heard of the famous Turpin,* who was born in this very village 
of Hampstead, and who used to lurk with his gang in Epping 
Forest ''' about a hundred years since ? " 

"Have I?" cried he, "to be sure I have! A hearty old 
blade that ! Sound as pitch ! Old Turpentine, as wx used to 
call him. A famous fine fellow, sir." 

"Well, sir," continued I, " I have visited Waltham Abbey and 
Chingford Church merely from the stories I heard when a boy 
of his exploits there, and I have searched Epping Forest for the 
cavern where he used to conceal himself. You must know," 
added I, " that I am a sort of amateur highwayman. They were 
dashing, daring fellows, the best apologies that we had for the 
knights-errant of yore. Ah, sir, the country has been sinking 
gradually into tameness and commonplace. We are losing the 
old English spirit. The bold knights of the post ^ have all dwin- 

1 The confessor and steward of Robin Hood, self-indulgent, humorous, 
and somewhat coarse. 

2 Clym of the Clough (Clement of the Cliff) and William of Cloudesley 
or Cloudeslie were noted outlaws, whose skill in archery rendered them as 
famous in the north of England as Robin Hood was in the midland counties. 
Their place of resort w^as Englewood Forest near Carlisle. 

3 Bagshot, Hounslow, and Blackheath, were three heaths near London, 
famous resorts of the highwaymen. 

4 Dick Turpin, a noted English highwayman, executed at York for horse 
stealing, in 1739. 

5 A forest on the outskirts of London. About two miles from the western 
part of the forest is Waltham Abbey, by the River Lea, and Chingford Church 
is about four and a half miles from Waltham Abbey. 

6 See Note i, p. 47. 



144 WASHIXGTON IRVING. 

died down into lurking footpads and sneaking pickpockets ; there's 
no such thing as a dashing, gentlemanlike robbery committed 
nowadays on the King's highway. A man may roll from one 
end of England to the other in a drowsy coach, or jingling post 
chaise, without anv other adventure than that of beinsr occasion- 
ally overturned, sleeping in damp sheets, or having an ill-cooked 
dinner. We hear no more of public coaches being stopped and 
robbed by a w^ell mounted gang of resolute fellows, with pistols 
in their hands, and crapes over their faces. What a pretty, poet- 
ical incident was it, for example, in domestic life, for a family 
carriage, on its way to a country seat, to be attacked about dark, 
the old gentleman eased of his purse and watch, the ladies of 
their necklaces and earrings, by a politely-spoken highwayman 
on a blood mare, who afterwards leaped the hedge and galloped 
across the country, to the admiration of Miss Caroline, the daugh- 
ter, who would write a long and romantic account of the adven- 
ture to her friend, Miss Juhana, in town. Ah, sir, we meet with 
nothing of such incidents nowadays." 

" That, sir," said my companion, taking advantage of a pause, 
when I stopped to recover breath, and to take a glass of wine 
which he had just poured out, " that, sir, craving your pardon, is 
not owing to any want of old English pluck. It is the effect of 
this cursed system of banking. People do not travel with bags 
of gold as they did formerly. They have post notes, and drafts 
on bankers. To rob a coach is like catching a crow, where you 
have nothing but carrion flesh and feathers for your pains. But 
a coach in old times, sir, was as rich as a Spanish galleon.^ It 
turned out the yellow boys ^ bravely. And a private carriage was 
a cooP hundred or two at least." 

1 A trading vessel of the fifteenth century. The Spanish galleons were 
usually laden with treasures from the South American countries. 

2 "Yellow boys," an English slang term for gold coins ; generally ap- 
plied to guineas. 

^ A term applied in a vague sense to a sum of money, to give emphasis to 
the largeness of the amount. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 145 

I cannot express how much I was delighted with the salHes 
of my new acquaintance. He told me that he often frequented 
the Castle, and would be glad to know more of me ; and I pro- 
posed to myself many a pleasant afternoon with him, when I should 
read him my poem as it proceeded, and benefit by his remarks, 
for it was evident he had the true poetical feehng, 

" Come, sir," said he, pushing the bottle ; " damme, I hke you ! 
you're a man after my own heart. I'm cursed slow in making 
new acquaintances. One must be on the reserve, you know. 
But when I meet with a man of your kidney, damme, my heart 
jumps at once to him. Them's my sentiments, sir. Come, sir, 
here's Jack Straw's health, I presume one can drink it now- 
adays without treason ! " 

" With all my heart," said I, gayly, " and Dick Turpin's into 
the bargain." 

"Ah, sir," said the man in green, "those are the kind of men 
for poetry. The Newgate Calendar,^ sir ! the Newgate Calendar 
is your only reading ! There's the place to look for bold deeds 
and dashing fellows." 

We were so much pleased with each other that we sat until a 
late hour. I insisted on paying the bill, for both my purse and 
my heart were full, and I agreed that he should pay the score at 
our next meeting. As the coaches had all gone that run between 
Hampstead and London, we had to return on foot. He was so 
dehghted with the idea of vciy poem that he could talk of noth- 
ing else. He made me repeat such passages as I could remem- 
ber, and though I did it in a very mangled manner, having a 
wretched memory, yet he was in raptures. 

Every now and then he would break out with some scrap which 
he would misquote most terribly, would rub his hands and exclaim, 
" By Jupiter, that's fine, that's noble ! Damme, sir, if I can con- 
ceive how you hit upon such ideas I " 

I must confess I did not always relish his misquotations, which 

1 A list of the prisoners committed to Newgate Prison, London. 
10 



146 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

sometimes made absolute nonsense of the passages ; but what 
author stands upon trifles when he is praised ? 

Never had I spent a more dehghtful evening. I did not per- 
ceive how the time flew. I could not bear to separate, but con- 
tinued walking on, arm in arm with him, past my lodgings, 
through Camden Town, and across CrackskuU Common, talking 
the whole way about my poem. 

When we were half way across the common, he interrupted me 
in the midst of a quotation by telling me that this had been a 
famous place for footpads, and was still occasionally infested by 
them, and that a man had recently been shot there in attempting 
to defend himself. ** The more fool he ! " cried I ; " a man is an 
idiot to risk life, or even limb, to save a paltry purse of money. 
It's quite a different case from that of a duel, where one's honor 
is concerned. For my part," added I, " I should never think of 
making resistance against one of those desperadoes." 

" Say you so ? " cried my friend in green, turning suddenly 
upon me, and putting a pistol to my breast ; *' why, then, have 
at you,i my lad ! Come — disburse ! empty ! unsack ! " 

In a word, I found that the Muse had played me another of 
her tricks, and had betrayed me into the hands of a footpad. 
There was no time to parley; he made me turn my pockets in- 
side out, and hearing the sound of distant footsteps, he made one 
fell swoop upon purse, watch, and all, gave me a thwack on my 
unlucky pate that laid me sprawling on the ground, and scam- 
pered away with his booty. 

I saw no more of my friend in green until a year or two after- 
wards, when I caught sight of his poetical countenance among 
a crew of scapegraces, heavily ironed, who were on the way for 
transportation. He recognized me at once, tipped me an impu- 
dent wink, and asked me how I came on with the history of Jack 
Straw's Castle. 

The catastrophe at CrackskuU Common put an end to my 
summer's campaign. I was cured of my poetical enthusiasm for 

1 To " liave at you " is to try to strike you. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 147 

rebels, robbers, and highwaymen. I was put out of conceit of 
my subject, and, what was worse, I was hghtened of my purse, 
in which was almost every farthing I had in the world. So I 
abandoned Sir Richard Steele's cottage in despair, and crept into 
less celebrated, though no less poetical and airy, lodgings in a 
garret in town. 

I now determined to cultivate the society of the literary, and 
to enroll myself in the fraternity of authorship. It is by the 
constant collision of mind, thought I, that authors strike out the 
sparks of genius, and kindle up with glorious conceptions. Poetry 
is evidently a contagious complaint. I will keep company with 
poets ; who knows but I may catch it as others have done ? 

I found no difficulty in making a circle of literary acquaint- 
ances, not having the sin of success lying at my door ; indeed, 
the failure of my poem was a kind of recommendation to their 
favor. It is true my new friends were not of the most brilliant 
names in literature ; but then, if you would take their words for it, 
they were like the prophets of old, men of whom the world was 
not worthy, and who were to live in future ages, when the ephem- 
eral favorites of the day should be forgotten. 

I soon discovered, however, that the more I mingled in liter- 
ary society, the less I felt capable of writing ; that poetry was 
not so catching as I imagined ; and that in familiar life there 
was often nothing less poetical than a poet. Besides, I wanted 
the esprit de corps ^ to turn these literary fellowships to any ac- 
count. I could not bring myself to enlist in any particular sect. 
I saw something to like in them all, but found that would never 
do, for that the tacit condition on which a man enters into one 
of these sects is, that he abuses all the rest. 

I perceived that there were little knots of authors who lived 
with, and for, and by, one another. They considered themselves 
the salt of the earth. ^ They fostered and kept up a conventional 

1 The common, animating spirit of a collective body or association. 

2 " Salt of the earth," i.e., that portion of a community which has a good 
influence on the rest (see Matt. v. 13). 



148 WASHING TOX IRVIXG. 

vein of thinking, and talking, and joking on all subjects, and they 
cried each other up to the skies. Each sect had its particular 
creed, and set up certain authors as divinities, and fell down and 
worshiped them, and considered every one who did not worship 
them, or who worshiped any other, as a heretic and an infidel. 

In quoting the writers of the day, I generally found them ex- 
tolling names of which I had scarcely heard, and talking slight- 
ingly of others who were the favorites of the public. If I men- 
tioned any recent work from the pen of a first-rate author, they 
had not read it, — they had not time to read all that was spawned 
from the press ; he wrote too much to write well ; and then they 
would break out into raptures about some Mr. Timson, or Tom- 
son, or Jackson, whose works were neglected at the present day, 
but who was to be the wonder and dehght of posterity. Alas ! 
what heavy debts is this neglectful world daily accumulating on 
the shoulders of poor posterity. 

But, above all, it was edifying to hear w^ith what contempt 
they would talk of the great. Ye gods ! how immeasurably the 
great are despised by the small fry 1 of literature ! It is true, an 
exception was now and then made of some nobleman, with whom, 
perhaps, they had casually shaken hands at an election, or hob 
or nobbed - at a public dinner, and was pronounced a " devilish 
good fellow," and " no humbug ; " but, in general, it was enough 
for a man to have a title, to be the object of their sovereign dis- 
dain. You have no idea how poetically and philosophically they 
would talk of nobihty. 

For my part, this affected me but little, for though I had no 
bitterness against the great, and did not think the worse of a 
man for having innocently been born to a title, yet I did not 
feel myself at present called upon to resent the indignities poured 
upon them by the little. But the hostihty to the great writers of 
the day went sore against the grain ^ with me. I could not enter 

1 " Small fry," i.e., insignificant men. 

2 " Hob or nobbed," or " hobnobbed," drank familiarly witli. 

'^ " Against the grain," i.e., against one's tastes or inclinations. 



'J 'ALES OF A TKAVELER. 149 

into such feuds, or participate in such animosities. I had not 
become author sufficiently to hate other authors. I could still 
find pleasure in the novelties of the press, and could find it in 
my heart to praise a contemporary, even though he were suc- 
cessful. Indeed, I was miscellaneous in my taste, and could not 
confine it to any age or growth of writers. I could turn with 
delight from the glowing pages of Byron ^ to the cool and pol- 
ished raillery of Pope,- and after wandering among the sacred 
groves of " Paradise Lost," "^ I could give myself up to voluptu- 
ous abandonment in the enchanted bowers of " Lalla Rookh."'* 

"I would have my authors," said I, *'as various as my wines, 
and in relishing the strong and the racy, would never decry the 
sparkling and exhilarating. Port and sherry are excellent stand- 
bys, and so is Madeira, but claret and Burgundy may be drunk 
now and then without disparagement to one's palate, and cham- 
pagne is a beverage by no means to be despised." 

Such was the tirade I uttered one day when a little flushed 
with ale at a literary club. I uttered it, too, with something of a 
flourish, for I thought my simile a clever one. Unluckily, my 
auditors were men who drank beer and hated Pope ; so my fig- 
ure about wines went for nothing, and my critical toleration was 
looked upon as downright heterodoxy. In a word, I soon be- 
came like a freethinker in religion, an outlaw from every sect, and 
fair game for all. Such are the melancholy consequences of not 
hating in literatiu-e. 

I see you are growing weary, so I will be brief with the residue 
of my literary career. I will not detain you with a detail of my 
various attempts to get astride of Pegasus ; ^ of the poems I have 

1 See Note 4, p. 131. 2 gee Note 3, p. 129. 

3 The greatest work of John Milton, English poet (1608-74). 

4 A poem by Thomas Moore (see Note 5, p. 131). Lalla Rookh is an 
Eastern story, full of fire and passion. 

5 A winged horse in classical mythology, who, with a blow of the hoofs, 
caused Hippocrene, the inspiring fountain of the Muses, to spring from 
Mount Helicon. For this reason he is associated with the idea of poetic 



15° WASHINGTON IRVING. 

written which were never printed, the plays I have presented 
which were never performed, and the tracts I have pubhshed 
which were never purchased. It seemed as if booksellers, man- 
agers, and the ver\^ public, had entered into a conspiracy to starve 
me. Still I could not prevail upon myself to give up the trial, 
nor abandon those dreams of renown in which I had indulged. 
How should I be able to look the literary circle of my native 
village in the face, if I were so completely to falsify their predic- 
tions ? For some time longer, therefore, I continued to write for 
fame, and was, of course, the most miserable dog in existence, 
besides being in continual risk of starvation. I accumulated 
loads of literary treasure on my shelves, — loads which were to 
be treasures to posterity, but, alas ! they put not a penny into my 
purse. What was all this wealth to my present necessities ? I 
could not patch my elbows with an ode, nor satisfy my hunger 
with blank verse. " Shall a man fill his belly with the east wind ? " ^ 
says the proverb. He may as well do so as with poetry. 

I have many a time strolled sorrowfully along, with a sad heart 
and an empty stomach, about five o'clock, and looked wistfully 
down the areas in the west end of the town, and seen through the 
kitchen windows the fires gleaming, and the joints of meat turn- 
ing on the spits and dripping with gravy, and the cook maids 
beating up puddings, or trussing turkeys, and felt for the moment 
that if I could but have the run of one of those kitchens, Apollo 
and the Muses might have the hungry heights of Parnassus - for 
me. Oh, sir ! talk of meditations among the tombs ! they are 
nothing so melancholy as the meditations of a poor devil without 
penny in pouch, along a line of kitchen windows towards dinner 
time. 

At length, when almost reduced to famine and despair, the idea 
all at once entered my head that perhaps I was not so clever a 
fellow as the village and myself had supposed. It was the sal- 
inspiration. Hence, "to get astride of Pegasus," to gain poetic inspi- 
ration. 

1 See Job xv. 2. 2 See Note i, p. 140. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 151 

vation of me. The moment the idea popped into my brain it 
brought conviction and comfort with it. 1 awoke as from a 
dream ; I gave up immortal fame to those who could live on air ; 
took to writing for mere bread ; and have ever since had a very 
tolerable life of it. There is no man of letters so much at his 
ease, sir, as he who has no character to gain or lose. I had to 
train myself to it a little, and to clip my wings short at first, or 
they would have carried me up into poetry in spite of myself. 
So I determined to begin by the opposite extreme, and abandon- 
ing the higher regions of the craft, I came plump down to the 
lowest, and turned creeper. 

" Creeper ! and pray what is that ? " said I. 

" Oh, sir, I see you are ignorant of the language of the craft ; 
a creeper is one who furnishes the newspapers with paragraphs 
at so much a line, and who goes about in quest of misfortunes, 
attends the Bow Street Office, the Courts of Justice, and every 
other den of mischief and iniquity. We are paid at the rate of 
a penny a hne, and as we can sell the same paragraph to almost 
every paper, we sometimes pick up a very decent day's work. 
Now and then the Muse is unkind, or the day uncommonly quiet, 
and then we rather starve ; and sometimes the unconscionable 
editors will clip our paragraphs when they are a little too rhetor- 
ical, and snip off twopence or threepence at a go.^ I have many 
a time had my pot of porter snipped off my dinner in this way, 
and have had to dine with dry lips. However, I cannot com- 
plain. I rose gradually in the lower ranks of the craft, and am 
now, I think, in the most comfortable region of literature." 

" And pray," said I, " what may you be at present ? " 

" At present," said he, " I am a regular job writer, and turn my 
hand to anything. I work up the writings of others at so much 
a sheet, turn off translations, write second-rate articles to fill up 
reviews and magazines, compile travels and voyages, and furnish 
theatrical criticisms for the newspapers. All this authorship, you 
perceive, is anonymous ; it gives me no reputation except among 

1 " At a go," i.e., at a turn. 



152 WASHING TON IRVING. 

the trade, where I am considered an author of all work, and 
am always sure of employ. That's the only reputation I want. 
I sleep soundly, without dread of duns or critics, and leave im- 
mortal fame to those that choose to fret and fight about it. 
Take my word for it, the only happy author in this world is he 
who is below the care of reputation." 



NOTORIETY. 



WHEN we had emerged from the literary nest of honest 
Dribble, and had passed safely through the dangers of 
Breakneck Stairs, and the labyrinths of Fleet Market, Buckthorne 
indulged in many comments upon the peep into literary life 
which he had furnished me. 

I expressed my surprise at finding it so different a world from 
what I had imagined. " It is always so," said he, " with stran- 
gers. The land of literature is a fairyland to those who view it 
at a distance, but, like all other landscapes, the charm fades on 
a nearer approach, and the thorns and briars become visible. 
The republic of letters is the most factious and discordant of all 
republics, ancient or modern." 

" Yet," said I, smiling, " you would not have me take honest 
Dribble's experience as a view of the land. He is but a mous- 
ing owl, a mere groundling.^ We should have quite a different 
strain from one of those fortunate authors whom we see sport- 
ing about the empyreal heights of fashion, like swallows in the 
blue sky of a summer's day." 

"Perhaps we might," rephed he, "but I doubt it. I doubt 
whether, if any one, even of the most successful, were to tell his 
actual feelings, you would not find the truth of friend Dribble's 
philosophy with respect to reputation. One you would find car- 
rying a gay face to the world, while some vulture critic was prey- 

1 One of the common herd. 



7 ALES OF A 'I'RAVELER. 1 53 

ing upon his very liver. Another, who was simple enough to 
mistake fashion for fame, you would find watching countenances, 
and cultivating invitations, more ambitious to figure in the beau 
mo7ide 1 than the world of letters, and apt to be rendered wretched 
by the neglect of an iUiterate peer or a dissipated duchess. 
Those who were rising to fame, you would find tormented with 
anxiety to get higher, and those who had gained the summit, in 
constant apprehension of a decline. 

" Even those who are indifferent to the buzz of notoriety and 
the farce of fashion are not much better off, being incessantly 
harassed by intrusions on their leisure and interruptions of their 
pursuits ; for, whatever may be his feelings, when once an author 
is launched into notoriety, he must go the rounds until the idle 
curiosity of the day is satisfied, and he is thrown aside to make 
way for some new caprice. Upon the whole, I do not know but 
he is most fortunate who engages in the whirl through ambition, 
however tormenting, as it is doubly irksome to be obliged to join 
in the game without being interested in the stake. 

'* There is a constant demand in the fashionable world for 
novelty ; every nine days must have its wonder,- no matter of 
what kind. At one time it is an author, at another, a fire eater, 
at another, a composer, an Indian juggler, or an Indian chief ; a 
man from the North Pole or the Pyramids ; each figures through 
his brief term of notoriety, and then makes way for the succeed- 
ing wonder. You must know that we have oddity fanciers among 
our ladies of rank, who collect about them all kinds of remark- 
able beings ; fiddlers, statesmen, singers, warriors, artists, philos- 
ophers, actors, and poets ; every kind of personage, in short, who 
is noted for something peculiar, so that their routs are like fancy 
balls, where every one comes ' in character.' 

" I have had infinite amusement at these parties in noticing 
how industriously every one was playing a part, and acting out 

1 The fashionable world. 

2 " A nine days' wonder " is something that causes a great sensation for a 
short time and then is forgotten. 



154 WASHINGTON IRVING, 

of his natural line. There is not a more complete game at cross- 
purposes ^ than the intercourse of the literary and the great. The 
fine gentleman is always anxious to be thought a wit, and the wit, 
a fine gentleman. 

" I have noticed a lord endeavoring to look wise and talk 
learnedly with a man of letters who was aiming at a fashionable 
air and the tone of a man who had lived about town. The peer 
quoted a score or two learned authors, with whom he would fain 
be thought intimate, while the author talked of Sir John this, 
and Sir Harry that, and extolled the Biu"gundy he had drunk at 
Lord Such-a-one's. Each seemed to forget that he could only 
be interesting to the other in his proper character. Had the peer 
been merely a man of erudition, the author would never have lis- 
tened to his prosing ; and had the author known all the nobihty 
in the Court Calendar,^ it would have given him no interest in the 
eyes of the peer. 

'* In the same way I have seen a fine lady, remarkable for 
beauty, weary a philosopher with flimsy metaphysics, while the 
philosopher put on an awkward air of gallantry, played with her 
fan, and prattled about the opera. I have heard a sentimental 
poet talk very stupidly with a statesman about the national debt ; 
and on joining a knot of scientific old gentlemen conversing in 
a corner, expecting to hear the discussion of some valuable dis- 
covery, I found they were only amusing themselves with a fat 
story." 



A PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHER. 

THE anecdotes I had heard of Buckthorne's early schoolmate, 
together with a variety of peculiarities which I had remarked 
in himself, gave me a strong curiosity to know something of his 

1 A conversational game in which questions and answers arc so framed as 
to involve ludicrous combinations of ideas. 

2 An annual handbook of royal families and their courts. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 155 

own history. I am a traveler of the good old school, and am 
fond of the custom laid down in books, according to which, 
whenever travelers met, they sat down forthwith, and gave a his- 
tory of themselves and their adventures. This Buckthorne, too, 
was a man much to my taste ; he had seen the world, and min- 
gled with society, yet retained the strong eccentricities of a man 
who had lived much alone. There was a careless dash of good 
humor about him which pleased me exceedingly, and at times 
an odd tinge of melancholy mingled with his humor, and gave 
it an additional zest. He was apt to run into long speculations 
upon society and manners, and to indulge in whimsical views of 
human nature, yet there was nothing ill-tempered in his satire. 
It ran more upon the follies than the vices of mankind, and 
even the follies of his fellow-man were treated with the leniency 
of one who felt himself to be but frail. He had evidently been 
a little chilled and buffeted by fortune without being soured 
thereby, as some fruits become mellower and more generous in 
their flavor from having been bruised and frost-bitten. 

I have always had a great relish for the conversation of prac- 
tical philosophers of this stamp, who have profited by the *' sweet 
uses of adversity " ^ without imbibing its bitterness ; who have 
learned to estimate the world rightly, yet good-humoredly ; and 
who, while they perceive the truth of the saying that " all is 
vanity," ^ are yet able to do so without vexation of spirit. 

Such a man was Buckthorne ; in general, a laughing philos- 
opher, and if at any time a shade of sadness stole across his 
brow, it was but transient, like a summer cloud, which soon goes 
by, and freshens and revives the fields over which it passes. 

I was walking with him one day in Kensington Gardens,^ for 
he was a knowing epicure in all the cheap pleasures and rural 
haunts within reach of the metropolis. It was a dehghtful, warm 

1 See Shakespeare's As You Like It, act ii., sc. i. 

2 See Eccles. xii. 8. 

3 Kensington Gardens, in London, are to the north of Hyde Park, and 
are noted for their avenues of majestic old trees. 



156 WASH IXG TON IRVIXG. 

morning in spring, and he was in the happy mood of a pastoral 
citizen, when just turned loose into grass and sunshine. He had 
been watching a lark which, rising from a bed of daisies and 
yellow cups, had sung his way up to a bright, snowy cloud float- 
ing in the deep blue sky. 

"Of all birds," said he, "I should like to be a lark. He 
revels in the brightest time of the day, in the happiest season of 
the year, among fresh meadows and opening flowers ; and when 
he has sated himself with the sweetness of earth, he wings his 
flight up to heaven, as if he would drink in the melody of the 
morning stars. Hark to that note ! How it comes thrilling 
down upon the ear 1 What a stream of music, note falling 
over note, in delicious cadence ! Who would trouble his head 
about operas and concerts when he could walk in the fields and 
hear such music for nothing ? These are the enjoyments which 
set riches at scorn, and make even a poor man independent : 

" ' I care not, Fortune, what you me deny: 
You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace, 
You cannot shut the windows of the sky 
Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; 
You cannot bar my constant feet to trace 
The woods and lawns by living stream, at eve.' ^ 

" Sir, there are homilies in Nature's works worth all the wisdom 
of the schools, if we could but read them rightly, and one of the 
pleasantest lessons I ever received in time of trouble was from 
hearing the notes of the lark." 

I profited by this communicative vein to intimate to Buck- 
thorne a wish to know something of the events of his life, which 
I fancied must have been an eventful one. 

He smiled when I expressed my desire. " I have no great 
story," said he, " to relate. A mere tissue of errors and follies. 
But, such as it is, you shall have one epoch of it, by which you 
may judge of the rest." And so, without any further prelude, 
he gave me the following anecdotes of his early adventures. 

1 Thomson's Castle of Indolence, Canto II., stanza 3. 



I'ALES OF A TRAVELER. I'^l 



BUCKTHORNE, OR THE YOUNG MAN OF 
GREAT EXPECTATIONS. 

I WAS born to very little property, but to great expectations, 
which is, perhaps, one of the most unlucky fortunes a man can 
be born to. My father was a country gentleman, the last of a 
very ancient and honorable, but decayed, family, and resided in 
an old hunting lodge in Warwickshire. He was a keen sports- 
man, and lived to the extent of his moderate income, so that I 
had little to expect from that quarter; but then I had a rich 
uncle by the mother's side, a penurious, accumulating curmud- 
geon, who, it was confidently expected, would make me his heir, 
because he was an old bachelor, because I was named after him, 
and because he hated all the world except myself. 

He was, in fact, an inveterate hater, a miser even in misan- 
thropy, and hoarded up a grudge as he did a guinea. Thus, 
though my mother was an only sister, he had never forgiven her 
marriage with my father, against whom he had a cold, still, im- 
movable pique, which had lain at the bottom of his heart, like a 
stone in a well, ever since they had been schoolboys together. 
My mother, however, considered me as the intermediate being 
that was to bring everything again into harmony, for she looked 
upon me as a prodigy, God bless her ! My heart overflows when- 
ever I recall her tenderness. She was the most excellent, the 
most indulgent of mothers. I was her only child. It was a pity 
she had no more, for she had fondness of heart enough to have 
spoiled a dozen. 

I was sent at an early age to a public school, sorely against 
my mother's washes ; but my father insisted that it was the only 
way to make boys hardy. The school was kept by a conscien- 
tious prig of the ancient system, who did his duty by the boys 
intrusted to his care, — that is to say, we were flogged soundly 
when we did not get our lessons. We were put in classes, and 



15S WASHINGTON IRVING, 

thus flogged on in droves along the highway of knowledge, in 
much the same manner as cattle are driven to market, where 
those that are heavy in gait or short in leg have to suffer for 
the superior alertness or longer limbs of their companions. 

For my part, — I confess it with shame, — I was an incorrigible 
laggard. I have always had the poetical feeling ; that is to say, 
I have always been an idle fellow, and prone to play the vaga- 
bond. I used to get away from my books and school whenever 
I could, and ramble about the fields. I was surrounded by seduc- 
tions for such a temperament. The schoolhouse was an old- 
fashioned, whitewashed mansion, of wood and plaster, standing 
on the skirts of a beautiful village. Close by it was the venerable 
church, with a tall Gothic spire ; before it spread a lovely green 
valley, with a little stream glistening along through willow groves ; 
while a line of blue hills bounding the landscape gave rise to 
many a summer-day dream as to the fairyland that lay beyond. 

In spite of all the scourgings I suffered at that school to make 
me love my book, I cannot but look back upon the place with 
fondness. Indeed, I considered this frequent flagellation as the 
common lot of humanity, and the regular mode in which scholars 
were made. 

My kind mother used to lament over my details of the sore 
trials I underwent in the cause of learning, but my father turned 
a deaf ear to her expostulations. He had been flogged through 
school himself, and he swore there was no other way of making 
a man of parts ; ^ though, let me speak it with all due reverence, 
my father was but an indifferent illustration of his theory, for he 
was considered a grievous blockhead. 

My poetical temperament evinced itself at a very early period. 
The village church was attended every Sunday by a neighboring 
squire, the lord of the manor, whose park stretched quite to the 
village, and whose spacious country seat seemed to take the 
church under its protection. Indeed, you would have thought 
the church had been consecrated to him instead of to the Deity. 

* " A man of parts," i.e., an able man. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 159 

The parish clerk bowed low before him, and the vergers humbled 
themselves unto the dust in his presence. He always entered 
a little late, and with some stir, striking his cane emphatically 
on the ground, swaying his hat in his hand, and looking loftily 
to the right and left as he walked slowly up the aisle ; and the 
parson, who always ate his Sunday dinner with him, never com- 
menced service until he appeared. He sat with his family in a 
large pew, gorgeously lined, humbling himself devoutly on velvet 
cushions, and reading lessons of meekness and lowliness of spirit 
out of splendid gold and morocco prayer books. Whenever the 
parson spoke of the difficulty of a rich man's entering the king- 
dom of heaven, the eyes of the congregation would turn towards 
the '* grand pew," and I thought the squire seemed pleased with 
the application. 

The pomp of this pew, and the aristocratical air of the family 
struck my imagination wonderfully, and I fell desperately in love 
with a little daughter of the squire's, about twelve years of age. 
This freak of fancy made me more truant from my studies than 
ever. I used to stroll about the squire's park, and lurk near the 
house, to catch glimpses of this damsel at the windows, or play- 
ing about the lawn, or walking out with her governess. 

I had not enterprise nor impudence enough to venture from 
my concealment. Indeed, I felt like an arrant poacher, until I 
read one or two of Ovid's Metamorphoses,^ when I pictured my- 
self as some sylvan deity,^ and she a coy wood nymph of whom 
I was in pursuit. There is something extremely delicious in these 
early awakenings of the tender passion. I can feel even at this 
moment the throbbing in my boyish bosom, whenever by chance 

1 Ovid, Publius Ovidius Naso (43 B.C.-A.D.17), a great Roman poet. 
His best known work is the Metamorphoses, which professed to show the 
relation of the gods to human affairs ; but it deals mostly with the love ad- 
ventures of the gods with nymphs, etc. 

2 In Greek and Roman mythology the forests were inhabited by gods and 
nymphs, who were characterized by riotous merriment, and represented as 
half goat, half man. 



lt>o ll'ASIIIXG7'0X IRVIXG. 

I caught a glimpse of her white frock fluttering among the shrub- 
bery. I carried about in my bosom a volume of Waller,' which 
I had purloined from my mother's library, and I applied to my 
little fair one all the comphments la^^ished upon Sacharissa.- 

At length I danced with her at a school ball. I was so awk- 
ward a booby that I dared scarcely speak to her ; I was filled 
with awe and embarrassment in her presence ; but I was so in- 
spired that my poetical temperament for the first time broke out 
in verse, and I fabricated some glowing rhymes, in which I be- 
rhymed the little lady under the favorite name of Sacharissa. 
I slipped the verses, trembling and blushing, into her hand the 
next Sunday as she came out of church. The little prude handed 
them to her mamma, the mamma handed them to the squire, the 
squire, who had no soul for poetry, sent them in dudgeon to the 
schoolmaster, and the schoolmaster, with a barbarity worthy of 
the dark ages,^ gave me a sound and peculiarly humiliating flog- 
ging for thus trespassing upon Parnassus. This was a sad outset 
for a votary of the Muse ;^ it ought to have cured me of my pas- 
sion for poetry ; but it only confirmed it, for I felt the spirit of a 
martyr rising within me. What was as well, perhaps, it cured me 
of my passion for the young lady, for I felt so indignant at the 
ignominious horsing ^ I had incurred in celebrating her charms, 
that I could not hold up my head in church. Fortunately for 
my wounded sensibility, the midsummer holidays came on, and 
I returned home. My mother, as usual, inquired into all my 
school concerns, my little pleasures, and cares, and sorrows ; for 
boyhood has its share of the one as well as of the other. I told 

1 Edmund Waller (1605-87), an English poet noted for the refinement of 
his style. 

2 Sacharissa ( " Miss Sugar " ) was a name bestowed by Waller on Lady 
Dorothea Sidney, eldest daughter of the Earl of Leicester, for whose hand he 
was an unsuccessful suitor. 

3 " The dark ages," i.e., a period of obscurity and stagnation in literature 
and art, lasting nearly a thousand years (500 to 1500), 

* " Votary of the Muse," i.e., one devoted to poetry. 
5 Flogging. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. i6i 

her all, and she was indignant at the treatment I had experienced. 
She fired up at the arrogance of the squire and the prudery of 
the daughter, and, as to the schoolmaster, she wondered where 
was the use of having schoolmasters, and why boys could not 
remain at home and be educated by tutors, under the eye of 
their mothers. She asked to see the verses I had written, and 
she was delighted with them, for, to confess the truth, she had a 
pretty taste for poetry. She even showed them to the parson's 
wife, who protested they were charming, and the parson's three 
daughters insisted on each having a copy of them. 

All this was exceedingly balsamic; and I was still more con- 
soled and encouraged when the young ladies, who were the blue- 
stockings of the neighborhood, and had read Dr. Johnson's Lives ^ 
quite through, assured my mother that great geniuses never 
studied, but were always idle, upon which I began to surmise 
that I was myself something out of the common run. My father, 
however, was of a very different opinion, for when my mother, 
in the pride of her heart, showed him my copy of verses, he 
threw them out of the window, asking her if she meant '' to make 
a ballad monger of the boy ? " But he was a careless, common- 
thinking man, and I cannot say that I ever loved him much ; 
my mother absorbed all my filial affection. 

I used occasionally, on holidays, to be sent on short visits to 
the uncle who was to make me his heir. They thought it would 
keep me in his mind, and render him fond of me. He was a 
withered, anxious-looking old fellow, and lived in a desolate old 
country seat, which he suffered to go to ruin from absolute nig- 
gardliness. He kept but one man servant, who had lived, or 
rather starved, with him for years. No woman was allowed to 
sleep in the house. A daughter of the old servant lived by the 
gate, in what had been a porter's lodge, and was permitted to 
come into the house about an hour each day, to make the beds 
and cook a morsel of provisions. The park that surrounded the 
house was all run wild ; the trees were grown out of shape ; the 

^ Johnson's Lives of the English Poets (see Note i, p. 129). 
II 



1 62 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

fish ponds stagnant ; the urns and statues fallen from their pedes- 
tals, and buried among the rank grass. The hares and pheasants 
were so little molested, except by poachers, that they bred in 
great abundance, and sported about the rough lawns and weedy 
avenues. To guard the premises, and frighten off robbers, of 
whom he was somewhat apprehensive, and visitors, of whom he 
was in almost equal awe, my uncle kept two or three blood- 
hounds, who were always prowling round the house, and were the 
dread of the neighboring peasantry. They were gaunt and half 
starved, seemed ready to devour one from mere hunger, and 
were an effectual check on any stranger's approach to this wizard 
castle. 

Such was my uncle's house, which I used to visit now and 
then during the holidays. I was, as I before said, the old man's 
favorite ; that is to say, he did not hate me so much as he did 
the rest of the world. I had been apprised of his character, and 
cautioned to cultivate his good will ; but I was too young and 
careless to be a courtier, and, indeed, have never been sufficiently 
studious of my interests to let them govern my feelings. How- 
ever, we jogged on very well together, and as my visits cost him 
almost nothing, they did not seem to be very unwelcome. I 
brought with me my fishing rod, and half supplied the table from 
the fish ponds. 

Our meals were solitary and unsocial. My uncle rarely spoke ; 
he pointed to whatever he wanted, and the servant perfectly 
understood him. Indeed, his man John, or " Iron John," as he 
was called in the neighborhood, was a counterpart of his master. 
He was a tall, bony old fellow, with a dry wig that seemed 
made of cow's tail, and a face as tough as though it had been 
made of cow's hide. He was generally clad in a long, patched, 
livery coat, taken out of the wardrobe of the house, and which 
bagged loosely about him, having evidently belonged to some 
corpulent predecessor in the more plenteous days of the mansion. 
From long habits of taciturnity, the hinges of his jaws seemed to 
have grown absolutely rusty, and it cost him as much effort to set 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 163 

them ajar, and to let out a tolerable sentence, as it would have 
done to set open the iron gates of the park, and let out the old 
family carriage that was dropping to pieces in the coach house. 

I cannot say, however, but that I was for some time amused 
with my uncle's peculiarities. Even the very desolateness of the 
establishment had something in it that hit my fancy. When the 
weather was fine I used to amuse myself in a solitary way, by 
rambling about the park, and coursing like a colt across its lawns. 
The hares and pheasants seemed to stare with surprise to see 
a human being walking these forbidden grounds by daylight. 
Sometimes I amused myself by jerking stones, or shooting at 
birds with a bow and arrows, for to have used a gun would have 
been treason. Now and then my path was crossed by a little 
red-headed, ragged-tailed urchin, the son of the woman at the 
lodge, who ran wild about the premises. I tried to draw him 
into familiarity, and to make a companion of him, but he seemed 
to have imbibed the strange, unsociable character of everything 
around him, and always kept aloof ; so I considered him as an- 
other Orson,! and amused myself with shooting at him with my 
bow and arrows, and he would hold up his breeches with one 
hand, and scamper away like a deer. 

There was something in all this loneliness and wildness strangely 
pleasing to me. The great stables, empty and weather broken, 
with the names of favorite horses over the vacant stalls ; the win- 
dows, bricked and boarded up ; the broken roofs, garrisoned by 
rooks and jackdaws, — all had a singularly forlorn appearance. 
One would have concluded the house to be totally uninhabited 



1 One of the heroes in the old French romance of Valentine and Orson. 
Bellisant, wife of Alexander, Emperor of Constantinople, being banished by 
her husband, took refuge in a forest near Orleans, where she became the 
mother of the twins, Valentine and Orson. Valentine was taken away by his 
uncle, King Pepin of France ; but Orson was carried off by a bear, which 
suckled him with its cubs. As he grew up, he became the terror of France, 
and was called the " Wild Man of the Forest, " Ultimately he was reclaimed 
by his brother Valentine. 



1 64 WASHIXGTOX IRVING. 

were it not for the little thread of blue smoke which now and 
then curled up, like a corkscrew, from the center of one of the 
wide chimneys where my uncle's starveling meal was cooking. 

My uncle's room was in a remote corner of the building, 
strongly secured, and generally locked. I was never admitted 
into this stronghold, where the old man would remain for the 
greater part of the time, drawn up, like a veteran spider, in the 
citadel of his web. The rest of the mansion, however, was open 
to me, and I wandered about it unconstrained. The damp and 
rain, which beat in through the broken windows, crumbled the 
paper from the walls, moldered the pictiu"es, and gradually de- 
stroyed the furniture. I loved to roam about the wide, waste 
chambers in bad weather, and listen to the howling of the wind, 
and the banging about of the doors and window shutters. I 
pleased myself with the idea of how completely, when I came to 
the estate, I would renovate all things, and make the old build- 
ing ring with merriment, till it was astonished at its own jocundity. 

The chamber which I occupied on these visits had been my 
mother's when a girl. There was still the toilet table of her own 
adorning, the landscapes of her own drawing. She had never 
seen it since her marriage, but would often ask me if everything 
was still the same. All was just the same, for I loved that cham- 
ber on her account, and had taken pains to put everything in order, 
and to mend all the flaws in the windows with my own hands. 
I anticipated the time when I should once more welcome her to 
the house of her fathers, and restore her to this httle nesthng 
place of her childhood. 

At length my evil genius — or what, perhaps, is the same thing, 
the Muse — inspired me with the notion of rhyming again. My 
uncle, who never went to church, used on Sundays to read chap- 
ters out of the Bible ; and Iron John, the woman from the lodge, 
and myself, were his congregation. It seemed to be all one to 
him what he read, so long as it was something from the Bible. 
Sometimes, therefore, it would be the Song of Solomon, and this 
withered anatomy would read about being stayed with flagons, 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 165 

and comforted with apples, for he was sick of love.^ Some- 
times he would hobble, with spectacles on nose, through whole 
chapters of hard Hebrew names in Deuteronomy, ^ at which the 
poor woman would sigh and groan, as if wonderfully moved. 
His favorite book, however, was " The Pilgrim's Progress," ^ and 
when he came to that part which treats of Doubting Castle and 
Giant Despair, I thought invariably of him in his desolate old 
country seat. So much did the idea amuse me that I took to 
scribbling about it under the trees in the park, and in a few days 
had made some progress in a poem in which I had given a de- 
scription of the place, under the name of Doubting Castle, and 
personified my uncle as Giant Despair. 

I lost my poem somewhere about the house, and I soon sus- 
pected that my uncle had found it, as he harshly intimated to me 
that I could return home, and that I need not come and see him 
again till he should send for me. 

Just about this time my mother died. I cannot dwell upon the 
circumstance. My heart, careless and wayward as it is, gushes 
with the recollection. Her death was an event that perhaps 
gave a turn to all my after fortunes. With her died all that 
made home attractive. I had no longer anybody whom I was 
ambitious to please, or fearful to offend. My father was a good 
kind of a man in his way, but he had bad maxims in education, 
and we differed in material points. It makes a vast difference 
in opinion about the utility of the rod, which end happens to fall 
to one's share. I never could be brought into my father's way 
of thinking on the subject. 

1 See Song of Solomon ii. 5. 

2 The fifth book of the Old Testament. 

3 A religious allegory written by John Bunyan (1628-88). He describes 
the journey of the pilgrim Christian from the City of Destruction to the 
Celestial City. On his way the pilgrim encounters the Giant Despair, who 
lives in Doubting Castle. Finding Christian and his companion Hopeful 
asleep, the giant locks them up in his dungeon, where they are detained and 
cruelly treated till Christian unlocks the door with a key called Promise, and 
they make their escape. 



1 66 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

I now, therefore, began to grow very impatient of remaining 
at school, to be flogged for things that I did not hke. I longed 
for variety, especially now that I had not my uncle's house to 
resort to, by way of diversifying the dullness of school with the 
dreariness of his country seat. 

I was now almost seventeen, tall for my age, and full of idle 
fancies. I had a roving, inextinguishable desire to see different 
kinds of life, and different orders of society, and this vagrant 
humor had been fostered in me by Tom Dribble, the prime wag 
and great genius of the school, who had all the rambling pro- 
pensities of a poet. 

I used to sit at my desk in the school, on a fine summer's day, 
and, instead of studying the book which lay open before me, my 
eye was gazing through the windows on the green fields and blue 
hills. How I envied the happy groups on the tops of stagecoaches, 
chatting, and joking, and laughing, as they were whirled by the 
schoolhouse on their way to the metropolis ! Even the wagon- 
ers trudging along beside their ponderous teams, and traversing 
the kingdom from one end to the other, were objects of envy to 
me. I fancied to myself what adventures they must experience, 
and what odd scenes of life they must witness. All this was, 
doubtless, the poetical temperament working Avithin me, and 
tempting me forth into a world of its own creation, which I mis- 
took for the world of real life. 

While my mother lived, this strong propensity to rove was 
counteracted by the stronger attractions of home, and by the 
powerful ties of affection which drew me to her side ; but now 
that she was gone, the attraction had ceased ; the ties were severed. 
I had no longer an anchorage ground for my heart, but was at 
the mercy of every vagrant impulse. Nothing but the narrow 
allowance on which my father kept me, and the consequent penury 
of my purse, prevented me from mounting to the top of a stage- 
coach, and. launching myself adrift on the great ocean of life. 

Just about this time, the village was agitated for a day or two 
by the passing through of several caravans, containing wild 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 167 

beasts and other spectacles, for a gi-eat fair annually held at a 
neighboring town. 

I had never seen a fair of any consequence, and my curiosity 
was powerfully awakened by this bustle of preparation. I gazed 
with respect and wonder at the vagrant personages who accom- 
panied these caravans. I loitered about the village inn, listen- 
ing with curiosity and delight to the slang talk and cant jokes 
of the showmen and their followers, and I felt an eager desire to 
witness this fair which my fancy decked out as something won- 
derfully fine. 

A holiday afternoon presented when I could be absent from 
noon until evening. A wagon was going from the village to the 
fair. I could not resist the temptation, nor the eloquence of Tom 
Dribble, who was a truant to the very heart's core. We hired 
seats, and set off full of boyish expectation. I promised myself 
that I would but take a peep at the land of promise, and hasten 
back again before my absence should be noticed. 

Heavens! how happy I was on arriving at the fair ! How I 
was enchanted with the world of fun and pageantry around me ! 
The humors of Punch, ^ the feats of the equestrians, the magical 
tricks of the conjurors. But what principally caught my atten- 
tion was an itinerant theater, where a tragedy, pantomime,^ and 
farce, were all acted in the course of half an hour, and more of 
the draiJiatis perso7icB^ murdered than at Drury Lane* or Covent 
Garden ^ in the course of a whole evening. I have since seen many 
a play performed by the best actors in the world, but never have 
I derived half the delight from any that I did from this first rep- 
resentation. 

There was a ferocious tyrant in a skullcap like an inverted 

1 A humorous character of a puppet show, exhibited in places of popular 
resort. He is represented as short and fat, with a hump on his back. 

2 A dramatic and spectacular entertainment, of which dumb acting as well 
as burlesque dialogue and dancing by clown, harlequin, etc., are features. 

3 The actors in a play. 

4 A famous theater in London, of which David Garrick was once manager. 

5 An old theater in Covent Garden, London, built in 1732. 



l6S WASII/XGTOX IRJ'IXG. 

porringer, and a dress of red baize, magnificently embroidered 
with gilt leather, with his face so bewhiskered, and liis eyebrows 
so knit and expanded with burnt cork, that he made my heart 
quake -w-ithin me as he stamped about the little stage. I was 
enraptured, too, with the surpassing beauty of a distressed damsel 
in a faded pink siik and dirt}- white mushn, whom he held in 
cruel capti^-ity by way of gaining her affections, and who wept 
and wrung her hands, and flourished a ragged white handkerchief 
from the top of an impregnable tower of the size of a bandbox. 

Even after I had come out from the play I could not tear 
myself from the vicinity of the theater, but hngered, gazing, and 
wondering, and laughing at the dramatis persoruB as they per- 
formed their antics, or danced upon a stage in front of the booth, 
to decoy a new set of spectators. 

I was so bewildered by the scene, and so lost in the crowd of 
sensations that kept swarming upon me, that I was like one en- 
tranced. I lost my companion, Tom Dribble, in a tumult and 
scuffle that took place near one of the shows ; but I was too much 
occupied in mind to think long about him. I strolled about until 
dark, when the fair was lighted up, and a new scene of magic 
opened upon me. The illumination of the tents and booths, the 
brilliant effect of the stages decorated with lamps, with dramatic 
groups flaunting about them in gaudy dresses, contrasted splen- 
didly with the surrounding darkness, while the uproar of drums, 
tnmipets, fiddles, hautboys,^ and cymbals, mingled with the har- 
angues of the showmen, the squeaking of Punch, and the shouts 
and laughter of the crowd, all united to complete my giddy dis- 
traction. 

Time flew without my perceiving it. When I came to myself 
and thought of the school, I hastened to return. I inquired for 
the wagon in which I had come ; it had been gone for hom^s. 
I asked the time ; it was almost midnight. A sudden quaking 
seized me. How was I to get back to school ? I was too 
wear}' to make the journey on foot, and I knew not where to 

1 Wind instruments, similar in shape to the clarinet. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER, 169 

apply for a conveyance. Even if I should find one, could I ven- 
ture to disturb the schoolhouse long after midnight, — to arouse 
that sleeping lion the usher in the very midst of his night's rest? 
The idea was too dreadful for a delinquent schoolboy. All the 
horrors of return rushed upon me. My absence must long be- 
fore this have been remarked ; and absent for a whole night ! 
— a deed of darkness not easily to be expiated. The rod of the 
pedagogue budded forth into tenfold terrors before my affrighted 
fancy. I pictured to myself punishment and humihation in every 
variety of form, and my heart sickened at the picture. Alas ! 
how often are the petty ills of boyhood as painful to our tender 
natures as are the sterner evils of manhood to our robuster minds. 

I wandered about among the booths, and I might have derived 
a lesson from my actual feelings, how much the charms of this 
world depend upon ourselves, for I no longer saw anything gay 
or delightful in the revelry around me. At length I lay down, 
wearied and perplexed, behind one of the large tents, and, cover- 
ing myself with the margin of the tent cloth to keep off the night 
chill, I soon fell asleep. 

I had not slept long when I was awakened by the noise of 
merriment within an adjoining booth. It was the itinerant thea- 
ter, rudely constructed of boards and canvas. I peeped through 
an aperture, and saw the whole dramatis pejsoncE, tragedy, 
comedy, and pantomime, all refreshing themselves after the final 
dismissal of their auditors. They were merry and gamesome, 
and made the flimsy theater ring with their laughter. I was 
astonished to see the tragedy tyrant in red baize and fierce whisk- 
ers, who had made my heart quake as he strutted about the 
boards, now transformed into a fat, good-humored fellow, the 
beaming, porringer ^ laid aside from his brow, and his jolly face 
washed from all the terrors of burnt cork. I was delighted, too, 
to see the distressed damsel in faded silk and dirty muslin, who 
had trembled under his tyranny, and afflicted me so much by 
her sorrows, now seated familiarly on his knee, and quaffing from 

^ A headdress shaped like a porringer or porridge dish ; so called in jest. 



1 70 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

the same tankard. Harlequin ^ lay asleep on one of the benches, 
and monks, satyrs,^ and vestal virgins '^ were grouped together, 
laughing outrageously at a broad story told by an unhappy 
count, who had been barbarously murdered in the tragedy. 

This was, indeed, novelty to me. It was a peep into another 
planet. I gazed and listened with intense curiosity and enjoy- 
ment. They had a thousand odd stories and jokes about the 
events of the day, and burlesque descriptions and mimickings of 
the spectators who had been admiring them. Their conversation 
was full of allusions to their adventures at different places where 
they had exhibited, the characters they had met with in different 
villages, and the ludicrous difficulties in which they had occasion- 
ally been involved. All past cares and troubles were now turned 
by these thoughtless beings into matters of merriment, and made 
to contribute to the gayety of the moment. They had been 
moving from fair to fair about the kingdom, and were the next 
morning to set out on their way to London. Mv resolution was 
taken. I stole from my nest, and crept through a hedge into a 
neighboring field, where I went to work to make a tatterdemalion ^ 
of myself. I tore my clothes, soiled them with dirt, begrimed 
my face and hands, and crawling near one of the booths, pur- 
loined an old hat, and left my new one in its place. It was an 
honest theft, and I hope may not hereafter rise up in judgment 
against me. 

I now ventured to the scene of merrymaking, and presenting 
myself before the dramatic corps, offered myself as a volunteer. 

1 Harlequin, in the British pantomime, is a sprite supposed to be invisible 
to all eyes but those of his faithful Columbine, with whom he is in love. His 
office is to dance through the world and frustrate all the knavish tricks of the 
clown, who also is in love with Columbine. 

2 Forest gods among the Greeks and Romans, half goat and half man 
(see Note 2, p. 159). 

3 Among the ancient Romans, vestal virgins were consecrated to Vesta, 
goddess of the hearth, and watched the sacred fire kept forever burning on 
her altar. 

4 Ragged fellow. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. i^i 

I felt terribly agitated and abashed, for never before " stood I in 
such a presence." I had addressed myself to the manager of the 
company. He was a fat man, dressed in dirty white, with a red 
sash fringed with tinsel swathed round his body ; his face was 
smeared with paint, and a majestic plume towered from an old 
spangled black bonnet. He was the Jupiter Tonans^ of this 
Olympus,- and was surrounded by the inferior gods and god- 
desses of his court. He sat on the end of a bench by a table, 
with one arm akimbo, and the other extended to the handle of 
a tankard, which he had slowly set down from his lips, as he sur- 
veyed me from head to foot. It was a moment of awful scru- 
tiny, and I fancied the groups around all watching as in silent 
suspense, and waiting for the imperial nod. 

He questioned me as to who I was, what were my qualifica- 
tions, and what terms I expected. I passed myself oif for a dis- 
charged servant from a gentleman's family, and as, happily, one 
does not require a special recommendation to get admitted into 
bad company, the questions on that head were easily satisfied. 
As to my accomplishments, I could spout a little poetry, and 
knew several scenes of plays, which I had learned at school 
exhibitions ; I could dance. That was enough. No further 
questions were asked me as to accomplishments. It was the very 
thing they wanted ; and as I asked no wages but merely meat and 
drink, and safe conduct about the world, a bargain was struck in 
a moment. 

Behold me, therefore, transformed in a sudden from a gentle- 
man student to a dancing buifoon, for such, in fact, was the char- 
acter in which I made my debut. I was one of those who formed 
the groups in the dramas, and was principally employed on the 
stage in front of the booth to attract company. I was equipped 

^ Jupiter, the chief god of the Romans, was worshiped as the god of rain, 
storms, thunder, etc. As god of thunder he bore the epithet "Jupiter 
Tonans." 

2 Mount Olympus of Greece, on the confines of Macedonia and Thessaly, 
where the court of Jupiter was supposed to have been held. 



172 WASIIIXGTON IRVING. 

as a sat^T, in a dress of drab frieze ^ that fitted to my shape, with 
a great laughing mask, ornamented with huge ears and short 
horns. I was pleased with the disguise, because it kept me from 
the danger of being discovered whilst we were in that part of 
the country ; and as I had merely to dance and make antics, the 
character was favorable to a debutant^ being almost on a par 
with Snug's ^ part of the lion, which required nothing but roaring. 

I cannot tell you how happy I was at this sudden change in 
my situation. I felt no degradation, for I had seen too little of 
society to be thoughtful about the difference of rank, and a boy 
of sixteen is seldom aristocratical. I had given up no friend, for 
there seemed to be no one in the world that cared for me, now 
that my poor mother was dead ; I had given up no pleasure, for 
my pleasure was to ramble about and indulge the flow of a poet- 
ical imagination, and I now enjoyed it in perfection. There is 
no life so truly poetical as that of a dancing buffoon. 

It may be said that all this argued groveling inclinations. I 
do not think so. Not that I mean to vindicate myself in any 
great degree ; I know too well what a whimsical compound I 
am ; but in this instance I was seduced by no love of low com- 
pany, nor disposition to indulge in low vices. I have always 
despised the brutally vulgar, and had a disgust at vice, whether 
in high or low life. I was governed merely by a sudden and 
thoughtless impulse. I had no idea of resorting to this profes- 
sion as a mode of life, or of attaching myself to these people as 
my future class of society. I thought merelv of a temporary 
gratification to my curiosity, and an indulgence of my humors. 
I had already a strong reHsh for the peculiarities of character and 
the varieties of situation, and I have always been fond of the 

1 A coarse woolen cloth, with a tufted (friezed) nap on one side. 

2 A character in Shakespeare's A Midsummer-Night's Dream. A play is 
arranged by the citizens of Athens for the occasion of the marriage of the 
Duke. Snug the joiner, who is slow of learning, is assigned the lion's part, 
which requires nothing but roaring (see A Midsummer-Night's Dream, act 
i., sc. 2). 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 173 

comedy of life, and desirous of seeing it through all its shifting 
scenes. 

In mingling, therefore, among mountebanks and buffoons, I 
was protected by the very vivacity of imagination which had led 
me among them. I moved about, enveloped, as it were, in a 
protecting delusion, which my fancy spread around me. I assimi- 
lated to these people only as they struck me poetically ; their 
whimsical ways and a certain picturesqueness in their mode of 
life entertained me ; but I was neither amused nor corrupted by 
their vices. In short, I mingled among them, as Prince Hal 1 did 
among his graceless associates, merely to gratify my humor. 

I did not investigate my motives in this manner at the time, 
for I was too careless and thoughtless to reason about the matter ; 
but I do so now, when I look back with trembling to think of the 
ordeal to which I unthinkingly exposed myself, and the manner 
in which I passed through it. Nothing, I am convinced, but 
the poetical temperament, that hurried me into the scrape, 
brought me out of it without my becoming an arrant vaga- 
bond. 

Full of the enjoyment of the moment, giddy with the wildness 
of animal spirits, so rapturous in a boy, I capered, I danced, I 
played a thousand fantastic tricks about the stage in the villages 
in which we exhibited, and I was universally pronounced the 
most agreeable monster that had ever been seen in those parts. 
My disappearance from school had awakened my father's anxi- 
ety, for I one day heard a description of myself cried before the 
very booth in which I was exhibiting, with the offer of a reward 
for any intelligence of me. I had no great scruple about letting 
my father suffer a little uneasiness on my account ; it would pun- 

1 Prince Hal (1388-1422), son of King Henry IV. of England, mingled 
with low company in taverns and was a reckless youth ; but he felt secure in 
the thought that he could at any time leave his common associates and assume 
the duties of his true rank. When he became king he threw off his dissipated 
habits, and Henry V. proved one of England's wisest and greatest kings 
(see Shakespeare's Henry IV., Part i., act i., sc. 2). 



174 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

ish him for past indifference, and would make him value me the 
more when he found me again. 

I have wondered that some of my comrades did not recognize 
me in the stray sheep that was cried ; but they were all, no doubt, 
occupied by their own concerns. They were all laboring seriously 
in their antic vocation ; for folly was a mere trade with most of 
them, and they often grinned and capered with heavy hearts. 
With me, on the contrary, it was all real. I acted co7i amore} 
and rattled and laughed from the irrepressible gayety of my 
spirits. It is true that, now and then, I started and looked grave 
on receiving a sudden thwack from the wooden sword of Harle- 
quin in the course of my gambols, as it brought to mind the birch 
of my schoolmaster ; but I soon got accustomed to it, and bore 
all the cuffing, and kicking, and tumbling about, which form the 
practical wit of your itinerant pantomime, with a good humor that 
made me a prodigious favorite. 

The country campaign of the troop was soon at an end, and 
we set off for the metropolis, to perform at the fairs which are 
held in its vicinity. The greater part of our theatrical property 
was sent on direct, to be in a state of preparation for the open- 
ing of the fairs, while a detachment of the company traveled 
slowly on, foraging among the villages. I was amused with the 
desultory, haphazard kind of life we led ; here to-day and gone 
to-morrow ; sometimes reveling in alehouses, sometimes feasting 
under hedges in the green fields. When audiences were crowded, 
and business profitable, we fared well, and when otherwise, we 
fared scantily, consoled ourselves, and made up with anticipations 
of the next day's success. 

At length the increasing frequency of coaches hurrying past 
us, covered with passengers ; the increasing number of carriages, 
carts, wagons, gigs, droves of cattle and flocks of sheep, all 
thronging the road ; the snug country boxes with trim flower 
gardens, twelve feet square, and their trees twelve feet high, all 
powdered with dust ; and the innumerable seminaries for young 

1 Literally, " with love; " hence, earnestly. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 175 

ladies and gentlemen, situated along the road for the benefit of 
countr}'' air and rural retirement, — all these insignia announced 
that the mighty London was at hand. The hurry, and the crowd, 
and the bustle, and the noise, and the dust, increased as we pro- 
ceeded, until I saw the great cloud of smoke hanging in the air, 
like a canopy of state over this queen of cities. 

In this way, then, did I enter the metropolis, a stroUing vaga- 
bond, on the top of a caravan, with a crew of vagabonds about 
me ; but I was as happy as a prince, for, like Prince Hal, I felt 
myself superior to my situation, and knew that I could at any 
time cast it off, and emerge into my proper sphere. 

How my eyes sparkled as we passed Hyde Park Corner,^ and 
I saw splendid equipages roUing by, with powdered footmen be- 
hind, in rich liveries, with fine nosegays, and gold-headed canes, 
and with lovely women within, so sumptuously dressed, and so 
surpassingly fair ! I was always extremely sensible to female 
beauty, and here I saw it in all its powers of fascination ; for 
whatever may be said of '* beauty unadorned," 2 there is some- 
thing almost awful in female loveliness decked out in jeweled 
state. The swanlike neck encircled with diamonds, the raven 
locks clustered with pearls, the ruby glowing on the snowy 
bosom, are objects which I could never contemplate without 
emotion ; and a dazzling white arm clasped with bracelets, and 
taper, transparent fingers, laden with sparkling rings, are to me 
irresistible. 

My very eyes ached as I gazed at the high and courtly beauty 
before me. It surpassed all that my imagination had conceived 
of the sex. I shrank for a moment into shame at the company 
in which I was placed, and repined at the vast distance that 
seemed to intervene between me and these magnificent beings. 

1 forbear to give a detail of the happy hfe I led about the 

^ One of the entrances to Hyde Park, a gay and fashionable quarter in 
London. 

2 " Loveliness needs not the foreign aid of ornament, but is, when un- 
adorned, adorned the most." — Thomson's Seasons — Autumn. 



176 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

skirts of the metropolis, playing at the various fairs held there 
during the latter part of spring, and the beginning of summer. 
This continued change from place to place, and scene to scene, 
fed my imagination with novelties, and kept my spirits in a per- 
petual state of excitement. As I was tall of my age, I aspired, 
at one time, to play heroes in tragedy ; but, after two or three 
trials, I was pronounced by the manager totally unfit for the line, 
and our first tragic actress, who was a large woman, and held a 
small hero in abhorrence, confirmed his decision. 

The fact is, I had attempted to give point to language which 
had no point, and nature to scenes which had no nature. They 
said I did not fill out my characters, and they were right. The 
characters had all been prepared for a different sort of man. 
Our tragedy hero was a round, robustious fellow, with an amaz- 
ing voice, who stamped and slapped his breast until his wig shook 
again, and who roared and bellowed out his bombast until every 
phrase swelled upon the ear like the sound of a kettledrum. I 
might as well have attempted to fill out his clothes as his char- 
acters. When we had a dialogue together, I was nothing before 
him, with my slender voice and discriminating manner. I might 
as well have attemped to parry a cudgel with a small sword. If 
he found me in any way gaining ground upon him, he would 
take refuge in his mighty voice, and throw his tones like peals of 
thunder at me, until they were drowned in the still louder thun- 
ders of applause from the audience. 

To tell the truth, I suspect that I was not shown fair play, and 
that there was management at the bottom ; for, without vanity, I 
think I was a better actor than he. As I had not embarked in 
the vagabond line through ambition, I did not repine at lack of 
preferment ; but I was grieved to find that a vagrant life was not 
without its cares and anxieties, and that jealousies, intrigues, and 
mad ambition, were to be found even among vagabonds. 

Indeed, as I became more familiar with my situation, and the 
delusions of fancy gradually faded away, I began to find that 
my associates were not the happy, careless creatures I had at first 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 177 

imagined them. They were jealous of each other's talents ; they 
quarreled about parts the same as the actors in the grand thea- 
ters ; they quarreled about dresses ; and there was one robe of 
yellow silk, trimmed with red, and a headdress of three rumpled 
ostrich feathers, which were continually setting the ladies of the 
company by the ears.^ Even those who had attained the high- 
est honors were not more happy than the rest ; for Mr. Flimsey 
himself, our first tragedian, and apparently a jovial, good-humored 
fellow, confessed to me one day, in the fullness of his heart, that 
he was a miserable man. He had a brother-in-law, a relative 
by marriage, though not by blood, who was manager of a theater 
in a small country town. And this same brother ("a little more 
than kin, and less than kind " 2) looked down upon him, and 
treated him with contumely, because, forsooth, he was but a 
strolling player. I tried to console him with the thoughts of the 
vast applause he daily received, but it was all in vain. He de- 
clared that it gave him no delight, and that he should never be a 
happy man until the name of Flimsey rivaled the name of Crimp. 
How little do those before the scenes know of what passes 
behind ! How little can they judge from the countenances of 
actors of what is passing in their hearts ! I have known two 
lovers quarrel like cats behind the scenes, who were, the moment 
after, to fly into each other's embraces. And I have dreaded, 
when our Belvidera ^ was to take her farewell kiss of her Jaffier,^ 

1 To " set by the ears " is to cause to quarrel. 

2 See Shakespeare's Hamlet, act i., sc. 2. 

3 Jaffier and Belvidera are two characters in Venice Preserved, a tragedy 
by Thomas Otway, English dramatic writer (1651—85). Jaffier, a young 
man befriended by Priuli, a proud Venetian senator, rescues the senator's 
daughter Belvidera from shipwreck, and then secretly marries her. The old 
man having discarded them both, Jaffier is induced by Pierre to join a con- 
spiracy against the senators. Belvidera, to save her father, induces her hus- 
band to disclose the plot on condition of a free pardon to all the conspirators. 
When Jaffier learns that the pardon is to be limited to himself, he stabs his 
friend Pierre to prevent his torture, and then kills himself, whereupon Bel- 
videra becomes mad and dies. 

I 2 



178 IVASHIXCTOX IRVING. 

lest she should bite a piece out of his cheek. Our tragedian 
was a rough joker off tlie stage ; our prime clown, the most pee- 
^45h mortal hving. The latter used to go about snapping and 
snarhng, with a broad laugh painted on his countenance, and I 
can assure yoti that, whatever may be said of the gravity of a 
monkey, or the melancholy of a gibed cat,i there is no more 
melancholy creature in existence than a mountebank off duty. 

The only thing in which aU parties agreed was to backbite 
the manager, and cabal against his regulations. This, however, 
I have since discovered to be a common trait of human nature, 
and to take place in aU communities. It would seem to be the 
main business of man to repine at government. In all situa- 
tions of life into which I have looked, I have found mankind 
divided into two grand parties, — those who ride, and those who 
are ridden. The great struggle of life seems to be which shall 
keep in the saddle. This, it appears to me, is the fundamental 
principle of politics, whether in great or little life. However, I 
do not mean to moralize, but one cannot always sink the phil- 
osopher. 

Well, then, to return to myself, it was determined, as I said, that 
I was not fit for tragedy, and, unluckily, as my study was bad, 
ha\'ing a Ytry poor memory, I was pronounced unlit for comedy 
also ; besides, the Une of young gentlemen was already engrossed 
by an actor with whom I could not pretend to enter into com- 
petition, he having filled it for almost half a centurv. I came 
down again, therefore, to pantomime. In consequence, however, 
of the good offices of the manager's lady, who had taken a hking 
to me, I was promoted from the part of the satyr to that of the 
lover, and with my face patched and painted, a huge cravat of 
paper, a steeple-crowned hat, and danghng, long-skirted, sky- 
blue coat, was metamorphosed into the lover of Columbine. - 
My part did not call for much of the tender and sentimental. 
I had merely to pursue the fugitive fair one ; to have a door now 

1 "As melancholy as a gibed cat,'' is an old proverbial expression. 

2 See Note i, p. 170. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 179 

and then slammed in my face ; to run my head occasionally against 
a post ; to tumble and roll about with Pantaloon 1 and the clown ; 
and to endure the hearty thwacks of Harlequin's wooden sword. 

As ill luck would have it, my poetical temperament began to 
ferment within me, and to work out new troubles. I'he inflam- 
matory air of a great metropolis, added to the rural scenes in 
which the fairs were held, such as Greenwich Park,^ Epping 
Forest, and the lovely valley of the West End, had a powerful 
effect upon me. While in Greenwich Park I was witness to the 
old holiday games of running down hill and kissing in the ring ; 
and then the firmament of blooming faces and blue eyes that 
would be turned towards me, as I was playing antics on the 
stage ; all these set my young blood and my poetical vein in full 
flow. In short, I played the character to the life, and became 
desperately enamored of Columbine. She was a trim, well made, 
tempting girl, with a roguish, dimpling face, and fine chestnut 
hair clustering all about it. The moment I got fairly smitten, 
there was an end to all playing. I was such a creature of fancy 
and feeling that I could not put on a pretended, when I was 
powerfully, affected by a real, emotion. I could not sport with a 
fiction that came so near to the fact. I became too natural in 
my acting to succeed. And then, what a situation for a lover ! 
I was a mere stripling, and she played with my passion, for girls 
soon grow more adroit and knowing in these matters than your 
awkward youngsters. What agonies had I to suffer ! Every 
time that she danced in front of the booth, and made such lib- 
eral displays of her charms, I was in torment. To complete my 
misery, I had a real rival in Harlequin, an active, vigorous, know- 
ing varlet, of six and twenty. What had a raw, inexperienced 
youngster like me to hope from such a competition ? 

I had still, however, some advantages in my favor. In spite 

1 A feeble-minded old man in the pantomime, who aids and abets the clown 
in all his knavery. 

2 A park in Greenwich on the Thames, six miles below London Bridge. 
It is a favorite resort, and is noted for its fine old chestnut trees. 



i8o WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. 

of my change of life, I retained that indescribable something 
which always distinguishes the gentleman ; that something which 
dwells in a man's air and deportment, and not in his clothes, 
and which is as difficult for a gentleman to put off, as for a 
vulgar fellow to put on. The company generally felt it, and 
used to call me " Little Gentleman Jack." The girl felt it, too, 
and, in spite of her predilection for my powerful rival, she liked 
to flirt with me. This only aggravated my troubles, by increas- 
ing my passion, and awakening the jealousy of her party-colored 
lover. 

Alas I think what I suffered at being obliged to keep up an in- 
effectual chase after my Columbine through whole pantomimes ; 
to see her carried off in the vigorous arms of the happy Harle- 
quin ; and to be obliged, instead of snatching her from him, to 
tumble sprawhng with Pantaloon and the clown, and bear the 
infernal and degrading thwacks of my rival's weapon of lath, 
which, may Heaven confound him ! (excuse my passion) the vil- 
lain laid on with a malicious good will ; nay, I could absolutely 
hear him chuckle and laugh beneath his accursed mask. I beg 
pardon for growing a little warm in my narrative; I wish to be 
cool, but these recollections will sometimes agitate me. I have 
heard and read of many desperate and deplorable situations of 
lovers, but none, I think, in which true love was ever exposed 
to so severe and pecuhar a trial. 

This could not last long ; flesh and blood, at least such flesh 
and blood as mine, could not bear it. I had repeated heartburn- 
ings and quarrels with my rival, in which he treated me with the 
mortifying forbearance of a man towards a child. Had he quar- 
reled outright with me, I could have stomached ^ it, at least I 
should have known what part to take ; but to be humored and 
treated as a child in the presence of my mistress, when I felt all 
the bantam 2 spirit of a little man swelling within me — gods! it 
was insufferable ! 

1 Endured. 

'^ Resembling the bantam ; hence, absurdly combative and consequential. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 18 1 

At length, we were exhibiting one day at West End fair, which 
was at that time a very fashionable resort, and often beleagured 
with gay equipages from town. Among the spectators that filled 
the first row of our little canvas theater one afternoon, when I 
had to figure in a pantomime, were a number of young ladies 
from a boarding school, with their governess. Guess my confu- 
sion, when, in the midst of my antics, I beheld among the num- 
ber my quondam flame ; ^ her whom I had berhymed at school, 
her for whose charms I had smarted so severely, — the cruel Sach- 
arissa. What was worse, I fancied she recollected me, and was 
repeating the story of my humiliating flagellation, for I saw her 
whispering to her companions and her governess. I lost all con- 
sciousness of the part I was acting, and of the place where I 
was. I felt shrunk to nothing, and could have crept into a rat 
hole. Unluckily, none was open to receive me. Before I could 
recover from my confusion, I was tumbled over by Pantaloon and 
the clown, and I felt the sword of Harlequin making vigorous 
assaults in a manner most degrading to my dignity. 

Heaven and earth ! was I again to suffer martyrdom in this 
ignominious manner, in the knowledge, and even before the very 
eyes of this most beautiful, but most disdainful, of fair ones ? All 
my long smothered wrath broke out at once ; the dormant feelings 
of the gentleman arose within me. Stung to the quick by imoler- 
able mortification, I sprang on my feet in an instant, leaped upon 
Harlequin hke a young tiger, tore off his mask, buffeted him in 
the face, and soon shed more blood on the stage than had been 
spilt upon it during a M-hole tragic campaign of batdes and mur- 
ders. 

As soon as Harlequin recovered from his surprise, he returned 
my assault with interest. I was nothing in his hands. I was 
game, to be sure, for 1 was a gentleman ; but he had the clown- 
ish advantage of bone and muscle. I felt as if I could have 
fought even unto the death, and I was likely to do so, for he was, 
according to the boxing phrase, " putting my head into chan- 

1 " Quondam flame," i.e., former sweetheart. 



1 82 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

eery," ^ when the gentle Columbine flew to my assistance. God 
bless the women ! they are always on the side of the weak and 
the oppressed ! 

The battle now became general; the dramatis perso f ice ranged 
on either side. The manager interposed in vain ; in vain were 
his spangled black bonnet and towering white feathers seen whisk- 
ing about, and nodding and bobbing in the thickest of the fight. 
Warriors, ladies, priests, satyrs, kings, queens, gods, and god- 
desses, all joined pellmell in the affray ; never, since the conflict 
under the walls of Troy, 2 had there been such a chance medley 
warfare of combatants, human and divine. The audience ap- 
plauded, the ladies shrieked, and fled from the theater ; and a 
scene of discord ensued that baffles all description. 

Nothing but the interference of the peace officers restored 
some degree of order. The havoc, however, among dresses and 
decorations, put an end to all further acting for that day. The 
battle over, the next thing w^as to inquire why it was begun, a 
common question among pohticians after a bloody and unprofit- 
able war, and one not always easy to be answered. It was soon 
traced to me, and my unaccountable transport of passion, which 
they could only attribute to my having run amuck. The man- 
ager was judge and jury, and plaintiff into the bargain, and in 
such cases justice is always speedily administered. He came 
out of the fight as sublime a wreck as the Santissima Trinidada.'^ 

1 To "get the head into chancery " is to get one's antagonist under one's 
arm, and hence to have him wholly in one's power ; an allusion to the condi- 
tion of a person involved in a chancery court, where he was helpless, while 
the lawyers lived upon his estate. 

2 " Conflict under the walls of Troy," i.e., the Trojan War. Paris, son 
of Priam, King of Troy (an ancient city in Asia Minor), eloped with Helen, 
wife of Menelaus, the King of Sparta in Greece, and the brother of Agamem- 
non. The Greeks arose in wrath, with Agamemnon at their head, and besieged 
Troy, which fell after a struggle which lasted ten years. The city was taken 
and burned to the ground. The tale of the siege of Troy, which is probably 
mythical, is described in Homer's Iliad, an epic poem in twenty-four books. 

3 A Spanish ship, the largest man-of-war afloat in the memorable engage- 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 183 

His gallant plumes, which once towered aloft, were drooping about 
his ears, his robe of state hung in ribbons from his back, and but 
ill concealed the ravages he had suffered in the rear. He had 
received kicks and cuffs from all sides during the tumult, for 
every one took the opportunity of slyly gratifying some lurking 
grudge on his fat carcass. He was a discreet man, and did not 
choose to declare war with all his company, so he swore all those 
kicks and cuffs had been given by me, and I let him enjoy the 
opinion. Some wounds he bore, however, which were the incon- 
testable traces of a woman's warfare. His sleek, rosy cheek was 
scored by trickling furrows, which were ascribed to the nails of 
my intrepid and devoted Columbine. The ire of the monarch 
was not to be appeased ; he had suffered in his person, and he 
had suffered in his purse ; his dignity, too, had been insulted, 
and that went for something, for dignity is always more irascible, 
the more petty the potentate. He wreaked his wrath upon the 
beginners of the affray, and Columbine and myself were dis- 
charged at once from the company. 

Figure me, then, to yourself, a stripling of little more than six- 
teen, a gentleman by birth, a vagabond by trade, turned adrift 
upon the world, making the best of my way through the crowd 
of West End fair, my mountebank dress fluttering in rags about 
me, the weeping Columbine hanging upon my arm, in splendid but 
tattered finery, the tears coursing one by one down her face, carry- 
ing off the red paint in torrents, and hterally "preying upon her 
damask cheek." 

The crowd made way for us as we passed, and hooted in our 
rear. I felt the ridicule of my situation, but had too much gal- 
lantry to desert this fair one, who had sacrificed everything for 
me. Having wandered through the fair, we emerged, Hke another 

ment off Cape Trafalgar, between the combined French and Spanish flee|: 
under Villeneuve, and the English fleet under Nelson. The PVench and 
Spanish fleet was completely overpowered, and was soon reduced to a helpless, 
disabled mass of fragments. By this battle England's supremacy over the 
sea was established. . 



184 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Adam and Eve, into unknown regions, and " had the world be- 
fore us where to choose." ^ Never was a more disconsolate pair 
seen in the soft valley of West End. The luckless Columbine 
cast many a Hngering look at the fair, which seemed to put on 
a more than usual splendor, its tents, and booths, and party-col- 
ored groups, all brightening in the sunshine, and gleaming among 
the trees, and its gay flags and streamers fluttering in the light 
summer airs. With a heavy sigh she would lean on my arm and 
proceed. I had no hope nor consolation to give her; but she 
had linked herself to my fortunes, and she was too much of a 
woman to desert me. 

Pensive and silent, then, we traversed the beautiful fields which 
lie behind Hampstead, and wandered on until the fiddle, and 
the hautboy, and the shout, and the laugh, were swallowed up in 
the deep sound of the big bass drum ; and even that died away 
into a distant rumble. We passed along the pleasant, sequestered 
walk of Nightingale Lane.^ For a pair of lovers, what scene 
could be more propitious ? But such a pair of lovers ! Not a 
nightingale sang to soothe us ; the very gypsies, who were en- 
camped there during the fair, made no offer to tell the fortunes 
of such an ill-omened couple, whose fortunes, I suppose, they 
thought too legibly written to need an interpreter ; and the gypsy 
children crawled into their cabins, and peeped out fearfully at 
us as we went by. For a moment I paused, and was almost 
tempted to turn gypsy, but the poetical feehng, for the present, 
was fully satisfied, and I passed on. Thus we traveled and trav- 
eled, like a prince and princess in a nursery tale, until we had 
traversed a part of Hampstead Heath,-^ and arrived in the vicin- 
ity of Jack Straw's Ca.stle. Here, wearied and dispirited, we 

1 " The world was all before them, where to choose 
Their place of rest." 

Milton's Paradise Lost, Book XII. 

2 A street which divides London Docks from St. Katherine's Docks. As 
late as 1629 it was still country, for in that year it is recorded that Charles L 
killed a stag in Nightingale Lane. 

3 A wild, hilly heath io Hampstead, once a favorite resort of highwaymen. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 185 

seated ourselves on the margin of the hill hard by the very mile- 
stone where Whittington ^ of yore heard the Bow bells ring out the 
presage of his future greatness. Alas ! no bell rung an invitation 
to us, as we looked disconsolately upon the distant city. Old 
London seemed to Avrap itself unsociably in its mantle of brown 
smoke, and to offer no encouragement to such a couple of tat- 
terdemalions. 

For once, at least, the usual course of the pantomime was re- 
versed ; Harlequin was jilted, and the lover had carried off Col- 
umbine in good earnest. But what was I to do with her ? I 
could not take her in my hand, return to my father, throw myself 
on my knees, and crave his forgiveness and blessing, according 
to dramatic usage. The very dogs would have chased such a 
draggle-tailed beauty from the grounds. 

In the midst of my doleful dumps some one tapped me on 
the shoulder, and, looking up, I saw a couple of rough, sturdy 
fellows standing behind me. Not knowing what to expect, I 
jumped on my legs, and was preparing again to make battle, but 
was tripped up and secured in a twinkling. 

** Come, come, young master," said one of the fellows in a 
gruff but good-humored tone, " don't let's have any of your 
tantrums ; one would have thought you had had swing enough 
for this bout. 2 Come, it's high time to leave off harlequinading,^ 
and go home to your father." 

1 A poor orphan country lad who procured employment in the house of a 
kind London merchant, but was so badly treated by the cook that he ran away. 
While resting on the roadside he heard the bells of Bow Church, which seemed 
to say to him, " Turn again, Whittington, thrice mayor of London;" so he 
returned. Not long after this the master allowed each of his servants to send 
off something in a ship bound for Morocco, to be sold there at a profit. Dick 
sent the only thing he had, — a cat ; but the King of Morocco, being troubled 
with mice, was so pleased that he bought the cat at a high price. Dick com- 
menced business with this money, rose to great wealth, was knightjed, and 
was three times elected mayor of London, in 1398, 1406, and 1419. Recent 
researches have proved this story to be founded on fact. 

2 " Swing enough," etc., i.e., enough liberty for this turn. 

3 Making sport. 



1^6 WASHIKCrON IRVING. 

In fact, I had fallen into the hands of remorseless men. The 
cruel Sacharissa had proclaimed who I was, and that a reward 
had been offered throughout the country for any tidings of me, 
and they had seen a description of me which had been inserted 
in the public papers. Those harpies,^ therefore, for the mere sake 
of filthy lucre,- were resolved to deliver me over into the hands 
of my father, and the clutches of my pedagogue. 

In vain I swore I would not leave my faithful and afflicted 
Columbine. In vain I tore myself from their grasp, and flew to 
her, and vowed to protect her, and wiped the tears from her 
cheek, and with them a whole blush that might have vied with 
the carnation for brilliancy. My persecutors were inflexible ; they 
even seemed to exult in our distress, and to enjoy this theatrical 
display of dirt, and finery, and tribulation. I was earned off in 
despair, leaving my Columbine destitute in the wide world ; but 
many a look of agony did I cast back at her as she stood gaz- 
ing piteously after me from the brink of Hampstead Hill, so for- 
lorn, so fine, so ragged, so bedraggled, yet so beautiful. 

Thus ended my first peep into the world. I returned home, 
rich in good-for-nothing experience, and dreading the reward I 
was to receive for my improvement. My reception, however, 
was quite different from what I had expected. My father had 
a spice of the devil in him, and did not seem to like me the 
worse for my freak, which he termed sowing my wild oats. He 
happened to have some of his sporting friends to dine the very 
day of my return ; they made me tell some of my ad\entures, and 
laughed heartily at them. 

One old fellow, with an outrageously red nose, took to me 
hugely. I heard him whisper to my father that I was a lad of 
mettle, and might make something clever, to which my father 
replied that I had good points, but was an ill-broken whelp, and 
required a great deal of the whip. Perhaps this very conversa- 
tion raised me a little in his esteem, for I found the red-nosed 
old gentleman was a veteran fox hunter of the neighborhood, 
1 Extortioners. 2 " Filthy lucre," i.e., money. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 187 

for whose opinion my father had vast deference. Indeed, I be- 
heve he would have pardoned anything in me more readily than 
poetry, which he called a cursed, sneaking, puling, housekeep- 
ing employment, the bane of all fine manhood. He swore i't 
was unworthy of a youngster of my expectations, who was one 
day to have so great an estate, and would be able to keep horses 
and hounds, and hire poets to write songs for him into the bar- 
gain. 

I had now satisfied, for a time, my roving propensity. I had 
exhausted the poetical feeling ; I had been heartily buffeted out 
of my love for theatrical display. I felt humiliated by my expo- 
sure, and willing to hide my head anywhere for a season, so that 
I might be out of the way of the ridicule of the world ; for I 
found folks not altogether so indulgent abroad as they were at 
my father's table. I could not stay at home ; the house was 
intolerably doleful now that my mother was no longer there to 
cherish me. Everything around spoke mournfully of her. The. 
little flower garden in which she delighted, was all in disorder and 
overrun with weeds. I attempted for a day or two to arrange 
it, but my heart grew heavier and heavier as I labored. Every 
little broken-down flower, that I had seen her rear so tenderly, 
seemed to plead in mute eloquence to my feelings. There was 
a favorite honeysuckle which I had seen her often training with 
assiduity, and had heard her say it would be the pride of her 
garden. I found it grovehng along the ground, tangled and wild, 
and twining round every worthless weed, and it struck me as an 
emblem of myself, a mere scatterling,^ running to waste and use- 
lessness. I could work no longer in the garden. 

My father sent me to pay a ^'isit to my uncle, by way of keep- 
ing the old gentleman in mind of me. I was received, as usual, 
without any expression of discontent, which we always considered 
equivalent to a hearty welcome. Whether he had ever heard of 
my strolling freak or not I could not discover, he and his man 
were both so taciturn. I spent a day or two roaming about the 

1 A vagabond, or one who has no fixed habitation. 



iS8 WASHIXGTOX IRVING. 

dreary mansion and neglected park, and felt at one time, I be- 
lieve, a touch of poetry, for I was tempted to drown myself in a 
fish pond. I rebuked the evil spirit, however, and it left me. I 
found the same red-headed boy running wild about the park, but 
I felt in no humor to hunt him at present. On the contrars^, I 
tried to coax him to me, and to make friends with him, but the 
young savage was untamable. 

When I returned from my uncle's, I remained at home for 
some time, for my father was disposed, he said, to make a man 
of me. He took me out hunting with him, and I became a great 
favorite of the red-nosed squire, because I rode at everything, 
never refused the boldest leap, and was always sure to be in at 
the death. I used often, however, to offend my father at hunt- 
ing dinners by taking the wrong side in politics. My father was 
amazingly ignorant, — so ignorant, in fact, as not to know that he 
knew nothing. He was stanch, however, to church and king, 
and full of old-fashioned prejudices. Now I had picked up a 
little knowledge in politics and religion during my rambles Avith 
the strollers, and found myself capable of setting him right as to 
many of his antiquated notions, I felt it my duty to do so. We 
were apt, therefore, to differ occasionally in the political discus- 
sions which sometimes arose at those hunting dinners, 

I w^as at that age when a man knows least, and is most vain 
of his knowledge, and when he is extremely tenacious in defend- 
ing his opinion upon subjects about which he knows nothing. 
My father was a hard man for any one to argue with, for he 
never knew when he was refuted, I sometimes posed him ^ a 
little, but then he had one argument that always settled the ques- 
tion ; he would threaten to knock me down. I believe he at last 
grew tired of me, because I both outtalked and outrode him. 
The red-nosed squire, too, got out of conceit with me, because, 
in the heat of the chase, I rode over him one day as he and his 
horse lay sprawling in the dirt. So I found myself getting into 
disgrace with all the world, and would have got heartily out of 
1 " Posed him," i.e., embarrassed him by questioning. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 189 

humor with myself had I not been kept in tolerable self-conceit 
by the parson's three daughters. 

They were the same who had admired my poetry on a former 
occasion, when it had brought me into disgrace at school, and I 
had ever since retained an exalted idea of their judgment. In- 
deed, they were young ladies not merely of taste but of science. 
Their education had been superintended by their mother, who^ 
was a bluestocking. They knew enough of botany to tell the 
technical names of all the flowers in the garden, and all their 
secret concerns into the bargain. They knew music, too, — not 
mere commonplace music, but Rossini ^ and Mozart, ^ and they 
sang Moore's Irish Melodies to perfection. They had pretty little 
worktables, covered with all kinds of objects of taste, — specimens 
of lava, and painted eggs, and workboxes painted and varnished 
by themselves. They excelled in knotting and netting, and 
painted in water colors, and made feather fans, and fire screens, 
and worked in silks and worsteds, and talked French and Italian, 
and knew Shakespeare ^ by heart. They even knew something 
of geology and mineralogy, and went about the neighborhood 
knocking stones to pieces, to the great admiration and perplexity 
of the country folk. 

I am a little too minute, perhaps, in detailing their accomplish- 
ments, but I wish to let you see that these were not common- 
place young ladies, but had pretensions quite above the ordinary 
run. it was some consolation to me, therefore, to find favor in 
such eyes. Indeed, they had always marked me out for a genius, 
and considered my late vagrant freak as fresh proof of the fact. 
They observed that Shakespeare himself had been a mere pickle * 

1 Gioachino Rossini (i 792-1868), a celebrated Italian composer, author 
of William Tell, Stabat Mater, and other famous operas. 

2 Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91), a celebrated German composer 
of symphonies, sonatas, operas, etc. His masterpiece is the opera Don Juan. 

3 William Shakespeare (1564-1616), greatest of English poets and drama- 
tists. Some of his most popular plays are Hamlet, the Merchant of Venice, 
and Romeo and Juliet, though many of his other works are equally famous. 

* "A mere pickle," i.e., a troublesome child. 



190 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

in his youth ; that he had stolen a deer, as every one knew, and 
kept loose company, and consorted with actors ; so I comforted 
myself marvelously with the idea of having so decided a Shake- 
spearian trait in my character. 

The youngest of the three, however, was my grand consolation. 
She was a pale, sentimental girl, with long hyacinthine ^ ringlets 
hanging about her face. She wrote poetry herself, and we kept 
up a poetical correspondence. She had a taste for the drama, 
too, and I taught her how to act several of the scenes in " Romeo 
and Juliet." I used to rehearse the garden scene under her lat- 
tice, which looked out from among woodbine and honeysuckles 
into the chiu-chyard. I began to think her amazingly pretty as 
well as clever, and I believe I should have finished by falling in 
love with her, had not her father discovered our theatrical studies. 
He was a studious, abstracted man, generally too much absorbed 
in his learned and religious labors to notice the little foibles of 
his daughters, and perhaps blinded by a father's fondness ; but 
he unexpectedly put his head out of his study window one day 
in the midst of a scene, and put a stop to our rehearsals. He 
had a vast deal of that prosaic good sense which I forever found 
a stumbling-block in my poetical path. My rambling freak had 
not struck the good man as poetically as it had his daughters. 
He drew his comparison from a different manual. He looked 
upon me as a prodigal son, and doubted whether I should ever 
arrive at the happy catastrophe of the fatted calf.- 

I fancy some intimation was given to my father of this new 
breaking out of my poetical temperament, for he suddenly inti- 
mated that it was high time I should prepare for the university. 
I dreaded a return to the school whence I had eloped ; the ridi- 
cule of my fellow-scholars, and the glance from the squire's pew, 
would have been worse than death to me. I was fortunately 
spared the humiliation. My father sent me to board with a 
country clergyman, who had three or four boys under his care. 

1 Resembling the hyacinth, whose petals curl over; hence, "curling."' 

2 See the parable of the prodigal son, Luke xv. 11-32. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 191 

I went to him joyfully, for I had often heard my mother mention 
him with esteem. In fact he had been an admirer of hers in his 
younger days, though too humble in fortune and modest in pre- 
tensions to aspire to her hand ; but he had ever retained a tender 
regard for her. He was a good man, a worthy specimen of that 
valuable body of our country clergy who silently and unostenta- 
tiously do a vast deal of good ; who are, as it were, woven into 
the whole system of rural life, and operate upon it with the 
steady yet unobtrusive influence of temperate piety and learned 
good sense. He lived in a small village not far from Warwick, 1 
one of those little communities where the scanty flock is, in a 
manner, folded into the bosom of the pastor. The venerable 
church, in its grass-grown cemetery, was one of those rural tem- 
ples scattered about our country as if to sanctify the land. 

I have the worthy pastor before my mind's eye at this moment, 
with his mild, benevolent countenance, rendered still, more vener- 
able by his silver hairs. I have him before me, as I saw him on 
my arrival, seated in the embowered porch of his- small parson- 
age, with a flower garden before it, and his pupils gathered round 
him like his children. I shall never forget his reception of me, 
for I believe he thought of my poor mother at the time, and his 
heart yearned towards her child. His eye glistened when he 
received me at the door, and he took me into his arms as the 
adopted child of his affections. Never had I been so fortunately 
placed. He was one of those excellent members of our church 
who help out their narrow salaries by instructing a few gentle- 
men's sons. I am convinced those little seminaries are among 
the best nurseries of talent and virtue in the land. Both heart 
and mind are cultivated and improved. The preceptor is the 
companion and the friend of his pupils. His sacred character 
gives him dignity in their eyes, and his solemn functions produce 
that elevation of mind and sobriety of conduct necessary to those 
who are to teach youth to think and act worthily. 

I speak from my own random observation and experience, but 

1 See Note i, p. 124. 



192 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

I think I speak correctly. At any rate, I can trace much of 
what is good in my own heterogeneous compound to the short 
time I was under the instruction of that good man. He entered 
into the cares and occupations and amusements of his pupils, and 
won his way into our confidence, and studied our hearts and 
minds more intently than we did our books. 

He soon sounded the depth of my character. 1 had become, 
as I have already hinted, a little liberal in my notions, and apt 
to philosophize on both politics and religion, having seen some- 
thing of men and things, and learned, from my fellow philos- 
ophers, the strollers, to despise all vulgar prejudices. He did 
not attempt to cast down my vainglory, nor to question my 
right view of things ; he merely instilled into my mind a little 
information on these topics, though in a quiet, unobtrusive way, 
that never ruffled a feather of my self-conceit. I was astonished 
to find what a change a little knowledge makes in one's mode of 
viewing matters, and how different a subject is when one thinks, 
or when one only talks about it. I conceived a vast deference 
for my teacher, and was ambitious of his good opinion. In my 
zeal to make a favorable irhpression, I presented him with a 
whole ream of my poetry. He read it attentively, smiled, and 
pressed my hand when he returned it to me, but said nothing. 
The next day he set me at mathematics. 

Somehow or other the process of teaching seemed robbed by 
him of all its austerity. I was not conscious that he thwarted 
an inclination or opposed a wish, but I felt that, for the time, 
my inclinations were entirely changed. I became fond of study, 
and zealous to improve myself. I made tolerable advances in 
studies which I had before considered as unattainable, and I 
wondered at my own proficiency. I thought, too, I astonished 
my preceptor, for I often caught his eyes fixed upon me with a 
peculiar expression. I suspect, since, that he was pensively trac- 
ing in my countenance the early lineaments of my mother. 

Education was not apportioned l)y him into tasks, and enjoined 
as a labor, to be abandoned with joy the moment the hour of 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 193 

Study was expired. We had, it is true, our allotted hours of 
occupation, to give us habits of method, and of the distribution 
of time ; but they were made pleasant to us, and our feeHngs 
were enlisted in the cause. When they were over, education 
still went on. It pervaded all our relaxations and amusements. 
There was a steady march of improvement. Much of his instruc- 
tion was given during pleasant rambles, or when seated on the 
margin of the Avon '} and information received in that way often 
makes i, deeper impression than when acquired by poring over 
books. I have many of the pure and eloquent precepts that 
flowed from his lips associated in my mind with lovely scenes 
in nature, which makes the recollection of them indescribably 
delightful. 

I do not pretend to say that any miracle was effected with me. 
After all said and done, I was but a weak disciple. My poetical 
temperament still wrought within me and wrestled hard with wis- 
dom, and, I fear, maintained the mastery. I found mathematics 
an intolerable task in fine weather. I would be prone to forget 
my problems, to watch the birds hopping about the windows, 
or the bees humming about the honeysuckles, and whenever I 
could steal away, I would wander about the grassy borders of 
the Avon, and excuse this truant propensity to myself with the 
idea that I was treading classic ground, over which Shakespeare 
had wandered. What luxurious idleness have I indulged, as I lay 
under the trees and watched the silver waves rippling through the 
arches of the broken bridge, and laving the rocky bases of old 
Warwick Castle ! ^ and how often have I thought of sweet Shake- 
speare, and in my boyish enthusiasm have kissed the waves which 
had washed his native village ! 

My good preceptor would often accompany me in these desul- 
tory rambles. He sought to get hold of this vagrant mood of 
mind and turn it to some account. He endeavored to teach me 
to mingle thought with mere sensation, to moralize on the scenes 
around, and to make the beauties of nature administer to the un- 

1 See Note 5, p. 129. 2 See Note i, p. 124. 

^3 



194 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

derstanding of the heart. He endeavored to direct my imagina- 
tion to high and noble objects, and to fill it with lofty images. 
In a word, he did all he could to make the best of a poetical 
temperament, and to counteract the mischief which had been 
done to me by my great expectations. 

Had I been earlier put under the care of the good pastor, or 
remained with him a longer time, I really believe he would have 
made something of me. He had aheady brought a great deal 
of what had been flogged into me into tolerable order, and had 
weeded out much of the unprofitable wisdom which had sprung 
up in my vagabondizing. I already began to find that with all 
my genius a little study would be no disadvantage to me, and, in 
spite of my vagrant freaks, I began to doubt my being a second 
Shakespeare. 

Just as I was making these precious discoveries, the good par- 
son died. It was a melancholy day throughout the neighbor- 
hood. He had his little flock of scholars, — his children, as he 
used to call us, — gathered round him in his dying moments, and 
he gave us the parting advice of a father now that he had to 
leave us, and we were to be separated from each other, and scat- 
tered about in the world. He took me by the hand, and talked 
with me earnestly and affectionately, and called to my mind my 
mother, and used her name to enforce his dying exhortations, 
for I rather think he considered me the most erring and heedless 
of his flock. He held my hand in his long after he had done 
speaking, and kept his eye fixed on me tenderly and almost pite- 
ously ; his lips moved as if he were silently praying for me, and 
he died away still holding me by the hand. 

There was not a dry eye in the church when the funeral ser^'ice 
was read from the pulpit from which he had so often preached. 
When the body was committed to the earth, our little band gath- 
ered round it, and watched the coflfiin as it was lowered into the 
grave. The parishioners looked at us with sympathy, for we were 
mourners not merely in dress but in heart. We lingered about 
the grave, and clung to one another for a time, weeping and 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 195 

speechless, and then parted, Hke a band of brothers parting from 
the paternal hearth, never to assemble there again. 

How had the gentle spirit of that good man sweetened our 
natures, and linked our young hearts together by the kindest 
ties ! I have always had a throb of pleasure at meeting with an 
old schoolmate, even though one of my truant associates ; but 
whenever, in the course of my life, I have encountered one of 
that little flock with which I was folded on the banks of the 
Avon, it has been with a gush of affection and a glow of virtue 
that for the moment have made me a better man. 

I was now sent to Oxford,^ and was wonderfully impressed 
on first entering it as a student. Learning here puts on all its 
majesty. It is lodged in palaces ; it is sanctified by the sacred 
ceremonies of religion ; it has a pomp and circumstance which 
powerfully affect the imagination. Such, at least, it had in my 
eyes, thoughtless as I was. My previous studies with the worthy 
pastor had prepared me to regard it with deference and awe. 
He had been educated here, and always spoke of the university 
with filial fondness and classic veneration. When I beheld the 
clustering spires and pinnacles of this most august of cities rising 
from the plain, I hailed them in my enthusiasm as the points of a 
diadem which the nation had placed upon the brows of science. 

For a time old Oxford was full of enjoyment for me. There 
was a charm about its monastic buildings, its great Gothic quad- 
rangles, its solemn halls and shadowy cloisters. I delighted, in 
the evenings, to get in places surrounded by the colleges, where 
all modern buildings were screened from the sight, and to see the 
professors and students sweeping along in the dusk in their anti- 
quated caps and gowns. I seemed for a time to be transported 

1 The capital of Oxford County, England, and the seat of one of the great- 
est English universities. It lies between the junction of two rivers, the Isis 
and the Cherwell. On High Street, running from east to west, are Magdalen 
College, All vSoul's College, and others. On Broad Street, at right angles 
to High Street, is the Bodleian Library (the public library of Oxford), 
which contains over 256,000 volumes. 



196 IVASHIXGTOX IRIIXG. 

among the people and edifices of the old times. I was a frequent 
attendant, also, of the evening service in the new college hall, 
to hear the fine organ, and the choir swelhng an anthem in that 
solemn building, where painting, music, and architecture are in 
such admirable unison. 

A favorite haunt, too, was the beautiful walk bordered by lofty 
elms along the river, behind tlie gray walls of Magdalen College, 
which goes by the name of Addison's Walk, from being his favor- 
ite resort when an Oxford student. I became, also, a lounger in 
the Bodleian Library, and a great dipper into books, though I 
cannot say that I studied them ; in fact, being no longer under 
direction or control, I was gradually relapsing into mere indul- 
gence of the fancy. Still this would have been pleasant and harm- 
less enough, and I might have awakened from mere Hterar\'- 
dreaming to something better. The chances were in my favor, 
for the riotous times of the university were past. The days of 
hard drinking were at an end. The old feuds of '' Town and 
GovsTi," 1 Hke the civil wars of the White and Red Roses,- had 
died away, and student and citizen slept in peace and whole 
skins, without risk of being summoned in the night to bloody 
brawl. It had become the fashion to study at the university, 
and the odds were always in favor of my following the fashion. 
Unluckily, however, I fell in company with a special knot of 

1 In the beginning of the thirteenth century, the University of Oxford 
struggled into existence after much opposition from the town and from the 
papal courts. In 1209 two clerks of Oxford were hanged, and a bitter feud 
arose, known as the " Feud of the Town and Gown" from the gown worn 
by the university students. The matter was taken up by the authorities, and 
the town was humiliated, but there was constant strife until the middle of the 
fourteenth century, when the university gained the recognition it sought. 

2 The " War of the Roses " (1450-71) was a ci\-il war in England over the 
right to the throne, a matter of dispute between Edward, Duke of York, and 
Henry VI. of Lancaster. The name was derived from the badges of the two 
parties, the white rose being that of the House of York, and the red rose, 
that of the House of Lancaster. The war resulted in the complete overthrow 
of the House of Lancaster. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 197 

young fellows, of lively parts and ready wit, who had lived occa- 
sionally upon town, and become initiated into the Fancy. ^ They 
voted study to be the toil of dull minds, by which they slowly 
crept up the hill, while genius arrived at it at a bound. I felt 
ashamed to play the owl ^ among such gay birds, so I threw by 
my books, and became a man of spirit.^ 

As my father made me a tolerable allowance, notwithstanding 
the narrowness of his income, having an eye always to my great 
expectations, I was enabled to appear to advantage among my 
companions. I cultivated all kinds of sport and exercises. I 
was one of the most expert oarsmen that rowed on the Isis. I 
boxed, fenced, angled, shot, and hunted, and my rooms in col- 
lege were always decorated with whips of all kinds, spurs, fowling 
pieces, fishing rods, foils, and boxing gloves. A pair of leather 
breeches would seem to be throwing one leg out of the half-open 
drawers, and empty bottles lumbered the bottom of every closet. 

My father came to see me at college when I was in the height 
of my career. He asked me how I came on with my studies, 
and what kind of hunting there w^as in the neighborhood. He 
examined my various sporting apparatus wath a curious eye, 
wanted to know if any of the professors were fox hunters, and 
whether they were generally good shots, for he suspected their 
studying so much must be hurtful to the sight. We had a day's 
shooting together. I delighted him with my skill, and astonished 
him by my learned disquisitions on horseflesh, and on Manton's 
guns ; so, upon the whole, he departed highly satisfied with my 
improvement at college. 

I do not know how it is, but I cannot be idle long without 
getting in love. I had not been a very long time a man of spirit, 
therefore, before I became deeply enamored of a shopkeeper's 
daughter in High Street, who, in fact, was the admiration of 
many of the students. I wrote several sonnets in praise of her, 

1 A name for sporting characters collectively, especially prize fighters. 

2 The owl is the emblem of wisdom. 

3 " Man of spirit," i.e., a gay, reckless fellow. 



198 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

and spent half of my pocket money at the shop, in buying ar- 
ticles which I did not want, that I might have an opportunity of 
speaking to her. Her father, a severe-looking old gentleman, 
with bright silver buckles, and a crisp, curled wig, kept a strict 
guard on her, as the fathers generally do upon their daughters 
in Oxford, — and well they may. I tried to get into his good 
graces, and to be sociable with him, but all in vain. I said sev- 
eral good things in his shop, but he never laughed ; he had no 
relish for wit and humor. He was one of those dry old gentle- 
men who keep youngsters at bay. He had already brought up 
two or three daughters, and was experienced in the ways of stu- 
dents. He was as knowing and wary as a gray old badger that 
has often been hunted. To see him on Sunday, so stiff and 
starched in his demeanor, so precise in his dress, with his daugh- 
ter under his arm, was enough to deter all graceless youngsters 
from approaching. 

I managed, however, in spite of his vigilance, to have several 
conversations with the daughter, as I cheapened articles in the 
shop. I made terribly long bargains, and examined the articles 
over and over before I purchased. In the mean time, I would 
convey a sonnet or an acrostic under cover of a piece of cambric, 
or slipped into a pair of stockings ; I would whisper soft non- 
sense into her ear as I haggled about the price, and would 
squeeze her hand tenderly as I received my half-pence of change 
in a bit of whity-brown paper. Let this serve as a hint to all 
haberdashers who have pretty daughters for shopgirls and young 
students for customers. I do not know whether my words and 
looks were very eloquent, but my poetry was irresistible, for, to 
tell the truth, the girl had some literary taste, and was seldom 
without a book from the circulating library. 

By the divine power of poetry, therefore, which is so potent 
with the lovely sex, did I subdue the heart of this fair little hab- 
erdasher. We carried on a sentimental correspondence for a 
time across the counter, and I supplied her with rhyme by the 
stocking-full. At length I prevailed on her to grant an assigna- 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 199 

tion. But how was this to be effected ? Her father kept her 
always under his eye ; she never walked out alone ; and the 
house was locked up the moment that the shop was shut. All 
these difficulties served but to give zest to the adventure. I pro- 
posed that the assignation should be in her own chamber, into 
which I would climb at night. The plan was irresistible, — a cruel 
father, a secret lover, and a clandestine meeting ! All the httle 
girl's studies from the circulating library seemed about to be 
realized. 

But what had I in view in making this assignation ? Indeed, 
I know not. I had no evil intentions, nor can I say that I had 
any good ones. I liked the girl, and wanted to have an oppor- 
tunity of seeing more of her, and the assignation was made, as I 
have done many things else, heedlessly and without forethought. 
I asked myself a few questions of the kind, after all my arrange- 
ments were made, but the answers were very unsatisfactory. 
" Am I to ruin this poor thoughtless girl ? " said I to myself. 
" No ! " was the prompt and indignant answer. " Am I to run 
away with her ? Whither, and to what purpose ? " " Well, then, 
am I to marry her ? " " Poh ! a man of my expectations marry 
a shopkeeper's daughter ! " " What, then, am I to do with her ? " 
" Hum — why, let me get into the chamber first, and then con- 
sider," and so the self-examination ended. 

Well, sir, *' come what come might," ^ I stole under cover of the 
darkness to the dwelling of my dulcinea.^ All was quiet. At 
the concerted signal her window was gently opened. It was 
just above the projecting bow window of her father's shop, which 
assisted me in mounting. The house was low, and I was enabled 
to scale the fortress with tolerable ease. I clambered with a beat- 
ing heart ; I reached the casement ; I hoisted my body half into 
the chamber; and was welcomed, not by the embraces of my 
expecting fair one, but by the grasp of the crabbed-looking old 
father in the crisp, curled wig. 

1 See Shakespeare's Macbeth, act i., sc. 3 ; " Come what come may." 

2 The object of a ridiculous passion. 



2 00 WASHixcroy jkij.vu. 

I extricated myself from liis clutches, and endeavored to make 
my retreat, but I was confounded by his cries of " thieves I " and 
''robbers!" I was bothered, too, by his Sunday cane, which 
was amazingly busy about my head as I descended, and against 
which my hat was but a poor protection. Never before had I 
an idea of the activity of an old man's arm, and the hardness of 
the knob of an ivory-headed cane. In my hurry and confusion 
I missed my footing, and fell sprawling on the pavement. I was 
immediately surrounded by myrmidons,^ who, I doubt not, were 
on the watch for me. Indeed, I was in no situation to escape, 
for I had sprained my ankle in the fall, and could not stand. I 
was seized as a housebreaker, and to exonerate myself of a 
greater crime, I had to accuse myself of a less. I made known 
who I was, and why I came there. Alas ! the varlets knew it 
already, and were only amusing themselves at my expense. My 
perfidious Muse had been playing me one of her slippery tricks. 
The old curmudgeon of a father had found my sonnets and 
acrostics hid away in holes and corners of his shop. He had no 
taste for poetry like his daughter, and had instituted a rigorous 
though silent observation. He had moused upon our letters, 
detected our plans, and prepared everything for my reception. 
Thus was I ever doomed to be led into scrapes by the Muse. 
Let no man henceforth carry on a secret amour - in poetry ! 

The old man's ire was in some measure appeased by the pom- 
meling of my head and the anguish of my sprain, so he did not 
put me to death on the spot. He was even humane enough to 
furnish a shutter, on which I was carried back to college like a 
wounded warrior. The porter was roused to admit me. The col- 
lege gate was thrown open for my entry. The affair was blazed 
about the next morning, and became the joke of the college 
from the buttery to the hall. 

I had leisure to repent during several weeks' confinement by 
my sprain, which I passed in translating Boethius's " Consolations 

1 Officers of the law. - Love aflfair. 



TALES OF A TRAVELEK. 201 

of Philosophy." ^ I received a most tender and ill-speiled letter 
from my mistress, who had been sent to a relation in Coventry.'- 
She protested her innocence of my misfortune, and vowed to be 
true to me " till deth." I took no notice of the letter, for I was 
cured for the present, both of love and poetry. Women, how- 
ever, are more constant in their attachments than men, whatever 
philosophers may say to the contrary. I am assured that she 
actually remained faithful to her vow for several months. But 
she had to deal with a cruel father, whose heart was as hard as 
the knob of his cane. He was not to be touched by tears or 
poetry, but absolutely compelled her to marry a reputable young 
tradesman, Avho made her a happy woman in spite of herself and 
of all the rules of romance, and, what is more, the mother of sev- 
eral children. They are at this very day a thriving couple, and 
keep a snug corner .shop just opposite the figure of Peeping Tom 
of Coventry.-^ 

I will not fatigue you by any more details of my studies at Ox- 
ford, though they were not always as severe as these, nor did I 
alw^ays pay as dear for my lessons. To be brief, then, I lived 
on in my usual miscellaneous manner, gradually getting knowl- 
edge of good and evil, until I had attained my twenty-first year. 
I had scarcely come of age when I heard of the sudden death 
of my father. The shock was severe, for though he had never 

1 Anicius Manlius Boethius (470-525), a distingished Roman philosopher 
and statesman, who was wrongfully condemned and imprisoned for political 
conspiracy. While in prison he wrote his famous Latin work, De Consola- 
tione Philosophiae (On the Consolations of Philosophy). 

2 A city in Warwick County, England, eighty-five miles from London. 

3 Lady Godiva, wife of Earl Leofric of Coventry, begged him to remit a 
certain tax which oppressed the people of Coventry. Her husband agreed to 
do this if she would ride naked through the city at midday. She therefore 
gave orders that all the people should shut up their windoAvs and doors, and, 
enveloped only in her long hair, she rode through the town, and thus delivered 
the people from the tax. One man, Tom of Coventry, took a peep at the lady 
who rode by, and was immediately struck blind. He was called " Peeping 
Tom," and his statue was erected in Coventry to commemorate the tale. 



202 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

treated me with much kindness, still he ^yas my father, and at 
his death I felt alone in the world. 

I returned home, and found myself the sohtary master of the 
paternal mansion. A crowd of gloomy feelings came thronging 
upon me. It was a place that always sobered me and brought 
me to reflection ; now, especially, it looked so deserted and mel- 
ancholy. I entered the little breakfasting room. There were 
my father's whip and spurs, hanging by the fireplace ; the " Stud 
Book," 1 " Sporting Magazine," ^ and " Racing Calendar," ^ his 
only reading. His favorite spaniel lay on the hearth rug. The 
poor animal, who had never before noticed me, now came fond- 
ling about me, licked my hand, then looked round the room, 
whined, wagged his tail slightly, and gazed wistfully in my face. 
I felt the full force of the appeal. " Poor Dash," said I, " we 
are both alone in the world, with nobody to care for us, and 
will take care of one another." The dog never quitted me after- 
wards. 

I could not go into my mother's room ; my heart swelled when 
I passed within sight of the door. Her portrait hung in the par- 
lor, just over the place where she used to sit. As I cast my eyes 
on it, I thought that it looked at me with tenderness, and I burst 
into tears. I was a careless dog,* it is true, hardened a little, 
perhaps, by hving in public schools, and buffeting about among 
strangers who cared nothing for me ; but the recollection of a 
mother's tenderness was overcoming. 

I was not of an age or a temperament to be long depressed. 
There was a reaction in my system that always brought me up 
again after every pressure, and, indeed, my spirits were always 
most buoyant after a temporary prostration. I settled the con- 
cerns of the estate as soon as possible, realized my property, which 

1 A book containing the pedigrees of horses, especially race horses. 

2 A magazine devoted to sports. 

3 A calendar of races to be held, and other facts of interest to those who 
attend horse races. 

4 " A careless dog," i.e., a worthless fellow. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 203 

was not very considerable, but which appeared a vast deal to me, 
having a poetical eye that magnified everything ; and finding 
myself, at the end of a few months, free of all further business 
or restraint, I determined to go to London and enjoy myself. 
Why should I not ? I was young, animated, joyous, had plenty 
of funds for present pleasures, and my uncle's estate in the per- 
spective.i *' Let those mope at college, and pore over books," 
thought I, " who have their way to make in the world ; it would 
be ridiculous drudgery in a youth of my expectations." Away to 
London, therefore, I rattled in a tandem, determined to take the 
town gayly. I passed through several of the villages where I 
had played the Jack Pudding ^ a few years before, and I visited 
the scenes of many of my adventures and follies merely from 
that feeling of melancholy pleasure which we have in stepping 
again in the footprints of foregone existence, even when they have 
passed among weeds and briers. I made a circuit in the latter 
part of my journey, so as to take in AVest End and Hampstead, 
the scenes of my last dramatic exploit, and of the battle royal of 
the booth. As I drove along the ridge of Hampstead Hill, by 
Jack Straw's Castle, I paused at the spot where Columbine and 
I had sat down so disconsolately in our ragged finery, and had 
looked dubiously on London. I almost expected to see her 
again, standing on the hill's brink^ "like Niobe, all tears j"^ 
mournful as Babylon in ruins. 

" Poor Columbine ! " said I, with a heavy sigh, " thou wert a 
gallant, generous girl ! a true woman, faithful to the distressed, 
and ready to sacrifice thyself in the cause of worthless man ! " 

1 Perspective is the effect of distance on the appearance of objects ; hence, 
" in the distance," or "in the future." 

2 A gormandizing clown. 

3 See Hamlet, act. i., sc. 2. Niobe is the personification of female sorrow. 
According to the Grecian fable she had twelve children, and she taunted 
Latona for having only two, — Apollo and Diana. Latona's children, to 
avenge the insult, caused the death of all Niobe's children. Niobe, inconsol- 
able, wept herself to death, and was turned into a stone from which her tears 
continued to flow. 



204 WASHING l^OX IRJVXG. 

I tried to whistle off the recollection of her, for there was 
always something of self-reproach with it. I drove gayly along 
the road, enjoying the stare of hostlers and stable boys, as I 
managed my horses knowingly down the steep street of Hamp- 
stead : when, just at the skirts of the village, one of the traces of 
my leader came loose. I pulled up, and as the animal was rest- 
ive, and my serA-ant a bungler, I called for assistance to the ro- 
bustious master of a snug alehouse, who stood at his door with 
a tankard in his hand. He came readily to assist me, followed 
by his wife, with her bosom half open, a child in her arms, and 
two more at her heels. I stared for a moment, as if doubting 
my eyes, I could not be mistaken ; in the fat, beer-blown land- 
lord of the alehouse I recognized my old rival Harlequin, and 
in his slattern spouse, the once trim and dimpling Columbine. 

The change of my looks from youth to manhood, and the 
change in my circumstances, prevented them from recognizing 
me. They could not suspect in the dashing young buck, fashion- 
ably dressed, and driving his ov.ii equipage, the painted beau, 
with old peaked hat, and long, flimsy, sky-blue coat. My heart 
yearned with kindness towards Columbine, and I was glad to see 
her estabhshment a thriving one. As soon as the harness was 
adjusted, I tossed a small purse of gold into her ample bosom, 
and then, pretending to give my horses a hearty cut of the whip, 
I made the lash curl with a whistHng about the sleek sides of 
ancient Harlequin. The horses dashed off hke lightning, and I 
was whirled out of sight before either of the parties could get over 
their surprise at my liberal donations. I have always considered 
this as one of the greatest proofs of my poetical genius ; it was 
distributing poetical justice in perfection. 

I now entered London e?i cavalier} and became a blood - upon 
town. I took fashionable lodgings in the West End, employed 
the first tailor, frequented the regular lounges, gambled a little, 
lost mv monev crood-humorediv, and !?ained a number of fashion- 
able, good-for-nothing acquaintances. I gained some reputation, 

' In CTeat stvle. - A gav, dissolute man. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 205 

also, for a man of science, having become an expert boxer in the 
course of my studies at Oxford. I was distinguished, therefore, 
among the gentlemen of the Fancy ; became hand and glove ^ 
with certain boxing noblemen, and was the admiration of the 
Fives Court.'^ A gentleman's science, however, is apt to get him 
into bad scrapes ; he is too prone to play the knight-errant, and 
to pick up quarrels which less scientifical gentlemen would quietly 
avoid. I undertook one day to punish the insolence of a porter. 
He was a Hercules^ of a fehow, but then I was so secure in my 
science ! I gained the victory, of course. The porter pocketed 
his humiliation, bound up his broken head, and went about his 
business as unconcernedly as though nothing had happened ; while 
I went to bed with my victory, and did not dare to show my 
battered face for a fortnight ; by which I discovered that a gen- 
tleman may have the worst of the battle even when victorious. 

I am naturally a philosopher, and no one can moralize better 
after a misfortune has taken place ; so I lay on my bed and mor- 
alized on this sorry ambition which levels the gentleman with 
the clown, I know it is the opinion of many sages, who have 
thought deeply on these matters, that the noble science of box- 
ing keeps up the bulldog courage of the nation, — and far be it 
from me to decry the advantage of becoming a nation of bull- 
dogs ; but I now saw clearly that it was calculated to keep up 
the breed of English ruffians. " What is the Fives Court," said 
I to myself, as I turned uncomfortably in bed, "but a college 
of scoundrehsm, where every bully ruffian in the land may gain 
a fellowship ? What is the slang language of the Fancy but a 
jargon by which fools and knaves commune and understand 
each other, and enjoy a kind of superiority over the uninitiated ? 

1 " Hand and glove," i.e., on very intimate terms. 

2 A place where boxing is practiced, so called from " fives," a slang term 
for the hand or fist. 

3 A hero in Grecian mythology, celebrated for his great physical strength 
and for the twelve great tasks, or labors, he performed. He is represented as 
brawny, muscular, and of huge proportions. 



2o6 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

What is a boxing match but an arena where the noble and 
the illustrious are jostled into familiarity with the infamous and 
the vulgar ? What, in fact, is the Fancy itself but a chain of 
easy communication, extending from the peer down to the pick- 
pocket, through the medium of which a man of rank may find 
he has shaken hands, at three removes, with the murderer on the 
gibbet ? " 

" Enough ! " ejaculated I, thoroughly convinced through the 
force of my philosophy and the pain of my bruises ; " I'll have 
nothing more to do with the Fancy." So when I had recovered 
from my victory, I turned my attention to softer themes, and be- 
came a devoted admirer of the ladies. Had I had more industry 
and ambition in my nature, I might have worked my way to the 
very height of fashion, as I saw many laborious gentlemen doing 
around me. But it is a toilsome, an anxious, and an unhappy 
life ; there are few things so sleepless and miserable as your culti- 
vators of fashionable smiles. I was quite content with that kind 
of society which forms the frontiers of fashion, and may be easily 
taken possession of. I found it a light, easy, productive soil. I 
had but to go about and sow visiting cards, and I reaped a whole 
harvest of invitations. Indeed, my figure and address were by 
no means against me. It was whispered, too, among the young 
ladies, that I was prodigiously clever, and wrote poetry ; and the 
old ladies had ascertained that I was a young gentleman of good 
family, handsome fortune, and " great expectations." 

I now was carried away by the hurry of gay life, so intoxica- 
ting to a young man, and which a man of poetical temperament 
enjoys so highly on his first tasting of it, — that rapid variety of 
sensations, that whirl of brilliant objects, that succession of pun- 
gent pleasures! I had no time for thought. I only felt. I never 
attempted to write poetry ; my poetry seemed all to go off by 
transpiration. I lived poetry ; it was all a poetical dream to me. 
A mere sensualist knows nothing of the delights of a splendid 
metropohs. He lives in a round of animal gratifications and 
heartless habits. But to a young man of poetical feelings, it is 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 207 

an ideal world, a scene of enchantment and delusion ; his imagina- 
tion is in perpetual excitement, and gives a spiritual zest to every 
pleasure. 

A season of town life, however, somewhat sobered me of my 
intoxication, or rather I was rendered more serious by one of my 
old complaints. I fell in love. It was with a very pretty, though 
a very haughty, fair one, who had come to London under the 
care of an old maiden aunt to enjoy the pleasures of a winter in 
town, and to get married. There was not a doubt of her com- 
manding a choice of lovers, for she had long been the belle of a 
little cathedral city, and one of the poets of the place had ab- 
solutely celebrated her beauty in a copy of Latin verses. The 
most extravagant anticipations were formed by her friends of the 
sensation she would produce. It was feared by some that she 
might be precipitate in her choice, and take up with some infe- 
rior title. The aunt was determined nothing should gain her 
under a lord. 

Alas ! with all her charms, the young lady lacked the one 
thing needful, — she had no money. So she waited in vain for 
duke, marquis, or earl to throw himself at her feet. As the sea- 
son waned, so did the lady's expectations, when, just towards the 
close, I made my advances. 

I was most favorably received by both the young lady and her 
aunt. It is true I had no title, but then such great expectations ! 
A marked preference was immediately shown me over two ri^^als, 
the younger son of a needy baronet and a captain of dragoons 
on half pay. I did not absolutely take the field in form, for I 
was determined not to be precipitate, but I drove my equipage 
frequently through the street in which she lived, and was always 
sure to see her at the window, generally with a book in her hand. 
I resumed my knack at rhyming, and sent her a long copy of 
verses, — anonymously, to be sure, but she knew my handwriting. 
Both aunt and niece, however, displayed the most delightful 
ignorance on the subject. The young lady showed them to me, 
wondered who they could be written by, and declared there was 



2o8 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

nothing in this world she loved so much as poetry ; while the 
maiden aunt would put her pinching spectacles on her nose, and 
read them, with blunders in sense and sound excruciating to an 
author's ears, protesting there was nothing equal to them in the 
whole Elegant Extracts.^ 

The fashionable season closed without my adventuring to make 
a declaration, though I certainly had encouragement. I was not 
perfectly sure that I had effected a lodgment in the young lady's 
heart, and, to tell the truth, the aunt overdid her part, and was 
a little too extravagant in her liking of me. I knew that maiden 
aunts were not to be captivated by the mere personal merits of 
their nieces' admirers, and I wanted to ascertain how much of 
all this favor I owed to driving an equipage and having great 
expectations. 

I had received many hints how charming their native place 
was during the summer months, what pleasant society they had, 
and what beautiful drives about the neighborhood. They had 
not, therefore, returned home long before I made my appearance 
in dashing style, driving down the principal street. The very 
next morning I was seen at prayers, seated in the same pew with 
the reigning belle. Questions were whispered about the aisles 
after service, — " Who is he ? " and " What is he ? " And the re- 
plies were as usual : "A young gentleman of good family and 
fortune, and great expectations." 

I was much struck with the peculiarities of this reverend little 
place. A cathedral, with its dependencies and regulations, pre- 
sents a picture of other times, and of a different order of things. 
It is a rich relic of a more poetical age. There still linger about 
it the silence and solemnity of the cloister. In the present in- 
stance especially, where the cathedral was large and the town 
small, its influence was the more apparent. The solemn pomp 
of the service, performed twice a day, with the grand intonations 
of the organ, and the voices of the choir swelling through the 

1 Elegant Extracts in Prose, in Verse, and Epistles, a series of selections 
by Vicesimus Knox, D.D. (i 752-1821), an English clergyman and author. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 209 

magnificent pile, diffused, as it were, a perpetual Sabbath over 
the place. This routine of solemn ceremony continually going 
on, independent, as it were, of the world ; this daily offering of 
melody and praise, ascending like incense from the altar, had a 
powerful effect upon my imagination. 

The aunt introduced me to her coterie, formed of families con- 
nected with the cathedral, and others of moderate fortune but 
high respectability, who had nestled themselves under the wings 
of the cathedral to enjoy good society at moderate expense. It 
was a highly aristocratical little circle ; scrupulous in its inter- 
course with others, and jealously cautious about admitting any- 
thing common or unclean. 

It seemed as if the courtesies of the old school had taken ref- 
uge here. There were continual interchanges of civilities, and of 
small presents of fruits and delicacies, and of complimentary crow- 
quill billets ; for in a quiet, well-bred community like this, living en- 
tirely at ease, little duties, and little amusements, and little civili- 
ties, filled up the day. I have seen, in the midst of a warm day, 
a corpulent, powdered footman issuing from the iron gateway of 
a stately mansion, and traversing the little place with an air of 
mighty import, bearing a small tart on a large silver salver. 

Their evening amusements were sober and primitive. They 
assembled at a moderate hour, the young ladies played music, and 
the old ladies whist, and at an early hour they dispersed. There 
was no parade on these social occasions. Two or three old sedan 
chairs were in constant activity, though the greater part made 
their exit in clogs ^ and pattens,^ with a footman or waiting maid 
carrying a lantern in advance ; and long before midnight the 
clank of pattens and gleam of lanterns about the quiet little 
place told that the evening party had dissolved. 

Still I did not feel myself altogether so much at my ease as I 
had anticipated, considering the smallness of the place. I found 
it very different from other country places, and that it was not 

1 Thick soles of wood, usually supported by an iron ring, worn to raise 
the feet out of the mud. 

14 



2IO WASHINGTON IRVING. 

SO easy to make a dash there. Sinner that I was, the very dig- 
nity and decorum of the httle community was rebuking to me. I 
feared my past idleness and folly would rise in judgment against 
me. I stood in awe of the dignitaries of the cathedral, whom I 
saw mingling familiarly in society. I became nervous on this 
point. The creak of a prebendary's ^ shoes, sounding from one 
end of a quiet street to another, w^as appalling to me, and the 
sight of a shovel hat^ was sufficient at any time to check me in 
the midst of my boldest poetical soarings. 

And then the good a-unt could not be quiet, but would cry me 
up for a genius, and extol my poetry to every one. So long as 
she confined this to the ladies it did well enough, because they 
were able to feel and appreciate poetr}' of the new romantic 
school. Nothing would content the good lady, however, but 
she must read my verses to a prebendary who had long been 
the undoubted critic of the place. He was a thin, delicate old gen- 
tleman, of mild, polished manners, steeped to the lips in classic 
lore, and not easily put in a heat by any hot-blooded poetry of 
the day. He listened to my most fervid thoughts and fervid 
words without a glow, shook his head with a smile, and con- 
demned them as not being according to Horace,^ — as not being 
legitimate poetry. 

Several old ladies, who had heretofore been my admirers, shook 
their heads at hearing this ; they could not think of praising any 
poetry that was not according to Horace, and as to anything ille- 
gitimate, it was not to be countenanced in good society. Thanks 
to my stars, however, I had youth and novelty on my side ; so 
the young ladies persisted in admiring my poetry in despite of 
Horace and illegitimacy. 

I consoled myself with the good opinion of the young ladies, 
whom I had always found to be the best judges of poetry. " As 

1 A clergyman attached to a cathedral church. 

2 " Shovel hat," i.e., a broad-brimmed hat, turned up at the sides and 
projecting in front like a shovel, worn by some clergy of the English Church. 

3 Horace, or Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65-8 B.C.), a famous Latin poet. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 211 

to these old scholars," said I, '' they are apt to be chilled by being 
steeped in the cold fountains of the classics." Still I felt that I 
was losing ground, and that it was necessary to bring matters to 
a point. Just at this time there was a pubhc ball, attended by 
the best society of the place, and by the gentry of the neighbor- 
hood. I took great pains with my toilet on the occasion, and I 
had never looked better. I had determined that night to make 
my grand assault on the heart of the young lady, to battle it with 
all my forces, and the next morning to demand a surrender in 
due form. 

I entered the ballroom amidst a buzz and flutter, which gen- 
erally took place among the young ladies on my appearance. I 
was in fine spirits, for, to tell the truth, I had exhilarated myself 
by a cheerful glass of wine on the occasion. I talked, and rat- 
tled, and said a thousand silly things, slapdash, with all the con- 
fidence of a man sure of his auditors ; and everything had its effect. 

In the midst of my triumph I observed a little knot gathering 
together in the upper part of the room. By degrees it increased. 
A tittering broke out here and there, and glances were cast round 
at me, and then there would be fresh tittering. Some of the 
young ladies would hurry away to distant parts of the room, 
and whisper to their friends. Wherever they went, there was 
still this tittering and glancing at me. I did not know what to 
make of all this. I looked at myself from head to foot, and 
peeped at my back in a glass, to see if anything was odd about 
my person, — any awkward exposure, any whimsical tag hanging 
out. No, everything was right ; I was a perfect picture. I 
determined that it must be some choice saying of mine that was 
bandied about in this knot of merry beauties, and I determined 
to enjoy one of my good things in the rebound. I stepped 
gently, therefore, up the room, smiling at every one as I passed, 
who, I must say, all smiled and tittered in return. I approached 
the group, smirking, and perking my chin, like a man who is full 
of pleasant feeling, and sure of being well received. The cluster 
of little belles opened as I advanced. 



212 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Heavens and earth ! whom should I perceive in the midst of 
them but my early and tormenting flame, the everlasting Sacha- 
rissa! She was grown, it is true, into the full beauty of woman- 
hood, but showed by the provoking merriment of her countenance 
that she perfectly recollected me and the ridiculous flagellations 
of which she had twice been the cause. 

I saw at once the exterminating cloud of ridicule bursting over 
me. My crest fell. The flame of love went suddenly out, or 
was extinguished by overwhelming shame. How I got down 
the room I know not ; I fancied every one tittering at me. Just 
as I reached the door, I caught a glance of my mistress and 
her aunt hstening to the whispers of Sacharissa, the old lady rais- 
ing her hands and eyes, and the face of the young one lighted 
up, as I imagined, with scorn ineffable. I paused to see no 
more, but made two steps from the top of the stairs to the bot- 
tom. The next morning, before sunrise, I beat a retreat, and did 
not feel the blushes cool from my tingling cheeks until I had 
lost sight of the old towers of the cathedral. 

I now returned to town, thoughtful and crestfallen. My money 
was nearly spent, for I had lived freely and without calculation. 
The dream of love was over, and the reign of pleasure at an end. 
I determined to retrench while I had yet a trifle left ; so, selling 
my equipage and horses for half their value, I quietly put the 
money in my pocket, and turned pedestrian. I had not a doubt 
that, with my great expectations, I could at any time raise funds, 
either on usury or by borrowing, but I was principled against 
both, and resolved by strict economy to make my slender purse 
hold out until my uncle should give up the ghost, or rather the 
estate. I stayed at home, therefore, and read, and would have 
written, but I had already suffered too much from my poetical 
productions, which had generally involved me in some ridiculous 
scrape. I gradually acquired a rusty look, and had a straitened, 
money-borrowing air, upon which the world began to shy me. 
I have never felt disposed to quarrel with the world for its con- 
duct ; it has always used me well. When I have been flush and 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 213 

gay, and disposed for society, it has caressed me, and when I 
have been pinched and reduced, and wished to be alone, why, it 
has left me alone ; and what more could a man desire ? Take 
my word for it, this world is a more obliging world than people 
generally represent it. 

Well, sir, in the midst of my retrenchment, my retirement, and 
my studiousness, I received news that my uncle was dangerously 
ill. I hastened on the wings of an heir's affections to receive 
his dying breath and his last testament. I found him attended 
by his faithful valet, old Iron John ; by the woman who occa- 
sionally worked about the house ; and by the foxy-headed boy, 
young Orson, whom I had occasionally hunted about the park. 
Iron John gasped a kind of asthmatical salutation as I entered 
the room, and received me with something almost like a smile 
of welcome. The woman sat blubbering at the foot of the bed, 
and the foxy-headed Orson, who had now grown up to be a lub- 
berly lout, stood gazing in stupid vacancy at a distance. 

My uncle lay stretched upon his back. The chamber was 
without fire, or any of the comforts of a sick-room. The cob- 
webs flaunted from the ceiling, the tester was covered with 
dust, and the curtains were tattered. From underneath the bed 
peeped out one end of his strong box. Against the wainscot 
were suspended rusty blunderbusses, horse pistols,^ and a cut- 
and-thrust 2 sword, with which he had fortified his room to de- 
fend his life and treasure. He had employed no physician dur- 
ing his illness, and from the scanty relics lying on the table, 
seemed almost to have denied himself the assistance of a cook. 

When I entered the room, he was lying motionless, his eyes 
fixed and his mouth open. At the first look I thought him a 
corpse. The noise of my entrance made him turn his head. At 
the sight of me a ghastly smile came over his face, and his glaz- 
mg eye gleamed with satisfaction. It was the only smile he had 

1 " Horse pistols," i.e., pistols of large caliber, formerly carried by dra- 
goons and other horsemen. 

2 Keen-edcred. 



214 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

ever given me, and it went to my heart. " Poor old man ! " 
thought I, ** why should you force me to leave you thus desolate, 
when I see that m)^ presence has the power to cheer you ? " 

" Nephew," said he, after several efforts, and in a low, gasping 
voice, " I am glad you are come. I shall now die with satisfac- 
tion. Look," said he, raising his withered hand, and pointing ; 
" look in that box on the table ; you will find that I have not for- 
gotten you.'' 

I pressed his hand to my heart, and the tears stood in my eyes. 
I sat down by his bedside and watched him, but he never spoke 
again. My presence, however, gave him evident satisfaction, 
for every now and then as he looked to me, a vague smile would 
come over his visage, and he would feebly point to the sealed box 
on the table. As the day wore away, his life appeared to wear 
away with it. Towards sunset his head sank on the bed, and 
lay motionless, his eyes grew glazed, his mouth remained open, 
and thus he gradually died. 

I could not but feel shocked at this absolute extinction of my 
kindred. I dropped a tear of real sorrow over this strange old 
man, who had thus reserved the smile of kindness to his death- 
bed — like an evening sun after a gloomy day, just shining out 
to set in darkness. Leaving the corpse in charge of the domes- 
tics, I retired for the night. 

It was a rough night. The winds seemed as if singing my 
uncle's requiem about the mansion, and the bloodhounds howled 
without, as if they knew of the death of their old master. Iron 
John almost grudged me the tallow candle to burn in my apart- 
ment and light up its dreariness, so accustomed had he been to 
starveling economy. I could not sleep. The recollection of 
my uncle's dying scene, and the dreary sounds about the house, 
affected my mind. These, however, were succeeded by plans 
for the future, and I lay awake the greater part of the night, in- 
dulging the poetical anticipation how soon I should make these 
old walls ring with cheerful life, and restore the hospitality of 
my mother's ancestors. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 215 

My uncle's funeral was decent, but private. I knew that no- 
body respected his memory, and I was determined none should 
be summoned to sneer over his funeral, and make merry at his 
grave. He was buried in the church of the neighboring village, 
though it was not the burying place of his race ; but he had ex- 
pressly enjoined that he should not be buried with his family ; 
he had quarreled with most of them when living, and he carried 
his resentments even into the grave. 

I defrayed the expenses of his funeral out of my own purse, 
that I might have done with the undertakers at once, and clear 
the ill-omened birds from the premises. I invited the parson of 
the parish, and the lawyer from the village, to attend at the house 
the next morning, and hear the reading of the will. I treated 
them to an excellent breakfast, a profusion that had not been 
seen at the house for many a year. As soon as the breakfast 
things were removed, I summoned Iron John, the woman, and 
the boy, for I was particular in having every one present and 
proceeding regularly. The box was placed on the table ; all was 
silence. I broke the seal, raised the lid, and beheld, not the will, 
but my accursed poem of Doubting Castle and Giant Despair! 

Could any mortal have conceived that this old, withered man, 
so taciturn, and apparently so lost to feeHng, could have treas- 
ured up for years the thoughtless pleasantry of a boy, to punish 
him with such cruel ingenuity ? I now could account for his 
dying smile, the only one he had ever given me. He had been 
a grave man all his life ; it was strange that he should die in the 
enjoyment of a joke, and it was hard that that joke should be 
at my expense. 

The lawyer and the parson seemed at a loss to comprehend 
the matter. "Here must be some mistake," said the lawyer; 
" there is no will here." 

" Oh ! " said Iron John, creaking forth his rusty jaws, " if it is 
a will you are looking for, I believe I can find one." 

He retired, with the same singular smile with which he had 
greeted me on my arrival, and which I now apprehended boded 



2i6 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

me no good. In a little while he returned with a will perfect at 
all points, properly signed and sealed, and witnessed and worded 
with horrible correctness, in which the deceased left large legacies 
to Iron John and his daughter, and the residue of his fortune to 
the foxy-headed boy, who, to my utter astonishment, was his son 
by this very woman, he having married her privately, and, as I 
verily believe, for no other purpose than to have an heir, and so 
balk my father and his issue of the inheritance. There was one 
little proviso, in which he mentioned that, having discovered his 
nephew to have a pretty turn ^ for poetry, he presumed he had 
no occasion for wealth ; he recommended him,, however, to the 
patronage of his heir, and requested that he might have a gar- 
ret, rent free, in Doubting Castle. 



GRAVE REFLECTIONS OF A DISAPPOINTED 

MAN. 

MR. BUCKTHORNE had paused at the death of his uncle, 
and the downfall of his great expectations, which formed, 
as he said, an epoch in his history, and it was not until some ht- 
tle time afterwards, and in a very sober mood, that he resumed 
his party-colored narrative. 

After leaving the remains of my defunct uncle (said he), when 
the gate closed between me and what was once to have been 
mine, I felt thrust out naked into the world, and completely 
abandoned to fortune. What was to become of jne ? I had 
been brought up to nothing but expectations, and they had all 
been disappointed. I had no relations to look to for counsel or 
assistance. The world seemed all to have died away from me. 
Wave after wave of relationship had ebbed off, and I was left a 
mere hulk upon the strand. I am not apt to be greatly cast down, 

1 " A pretty turn," i.e., a bent or disposition. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER, 217 

but at this time I felt sadly disheartened. I could not realize 
my situation, nor form a conjecture how I was to get forward. 
I was now to endeavor to make money. The idea was new and 
strange to me. It was like being asked to discover the philos- 
opher's stone. I had never thought about money otherwise than 
to put my hand into my pocket and find it, or if there were none 
there, to wait until a new supply came from home. I had con- 
sidered life as a mere space of time to be filled up with enjoy- 
ments ; but to have it portioned out into long hours and days of 
toil, merely that I might gain bread to give me strength to toil 
on, — to labor but for the purpose of perpetuating a life of labor, 
was new and appalling to me. This may appear a very simple 
matter to some ; but it will be understood by every unlucky 
wight in my predicament, who has had the misfortune of being 
bom to great expectations. 

I passed several days in rambling about the scenes of my boy- 
hood, partly because I absolutely did not know what to do with 
myself, and partly because I did not know that I should ever see 
them again. I clung to them as one clings to a wreck, though 
he knows he must eventually cast himself loose and swim for his 
life. I sat down on a little hill within sight of my paternal home, 
but I did not venture to approach it, for I felt compunction at the 
thoughtlessness with which I had dissipated my patrimony ; yet 
was I to blame, when I had the rich possessions of my curmud- 
geon of an uncle in expectation ? 

The new possessor of the place was making great alterations. 
The house was almost rebuilt. The trees which stood about it 
were cut down, my mother's flower garden was thrown into a 
lawn, — all was undergoing a change. I turned my back upon it 
with a sigh, and rambled to another part of the country. 

How thoughtful a little adversity makes one ! As I came 
within sight of the schoolhouse where I had so often been flogged 
in the cause of wisdom, you would hardly have recognized the 
truant boy who, but a few years since, had eloped so heedlessly 
from its walls. I leaned over the paling of the playground, and 



2i8 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

watched the scholars at their games, and looked to see if there 
might not be some urchin among them such as I was once, full of 
gay dreams about hfe and the world. The playground seemed 
smaller than when I used to sport about it. The house and park, 
too, of the neighboring squire, the father of the cruel Sacharissa, 
had shrunk in size and diminished in magnificence. The distant 
hills no longer appeared so far off, and, alas ! no longer awak- 
ened ideas of a fair\-land beyond. 

As I was rambling pensively tlurough a neighboring meadow 
in which I had many a time gathered primroses, I met the very 
pedagogue who had been the t)Tant and dread of my boyhood. 
I had sometimes vowed to myself, when suffering under his rod, 
that I would have my revenge if ever I met him when I had 
grown to be a man. The time had come, but I had no disposi- 
tion to keep my vow. The few years which had matured me into 
a \-igorous man had shrunk him into decrepitude. He appeared 
to have had a paralytic stroke. I looked at him, and wondered 
that this poor helpless mortal could have been an object of ter- 
ror to me ; that I should have watched with anxiety the glance 
of that failing eye, or dreaded the power of that trembling hand. 
He tottered feebly along the path, and had some difficulty in 
getting over a stile. I ran and assisted him. He looked at me 
with surprise, but did not recognize me, and made a low bow 
of humility and thanks. I had no disposition to make myself 
known, for I felt that I had nothing to boast of. The pains he 
had taken, and the pains he had infhcted, had been equally use- 
less. His repeated predictions were fully verified, and I felt that 
little Jack Buckthome, the idle boy, had grown to be a very good- 
for-nothing man. 

This is all ver)^ comfortless detail, but as I have told you of my 
follies, it is meet that I show you how for once I was schooled for 
them. The most thoughtless of mortals will some time or other 
have his day of gloom, when he will be compelled to reflect. 

I felt on this occasion as if I had a kind of penance to per- 
form, and I made a pilgrimage in expiation of my past levity. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 219 

Having passed a night at Leamington,^ I set off by a private 
path, which leads up a hill, through a grove, and across quiet 
fields, till I came to the small village, or rather hamlet, of Len- 
ington.2 I sought the village church. It is an old, low edifice 
of gray stone, on the brow of a small hill, looking over fertile 
fields towards where the proud towers of Warwick Castle lift 
themselves against the distant horizon. 

A part of the churchyard is shaded by large trees. Under one 
of them my mother lay buried. You have no doubt thought 
me a light, heartless being. I thought myself so ; but there are 
moments of adversity which let us into some feelings of our 
nature to which we might otherwise remain perpetual strangers. 

I sought my mother's grave ; the weeds were already matted 
over it, and the tombstone was half hid among nettles. I 
cleared them away, and they stung my hands, but I was heedless 
of the pain, for my heart ached too severely. I sat down on the 
grave, and read over and over again the epitaph on the stone. 

It was simple, but it was true. I had written it myself. I 
had tried to write a poetical epitaph, but in vain ; my feelings 
refused to utter themselves in rhyme. My heart had gradually 
been filling during my lonely wanderings ; it was now charged to 
the brim, and overflowed. I sank upon the grave, and buried 
my face in the tall grass, and wept like a child. Yes, I wept 
in manhood upon the grave, as I had in infancy upon the 
bosom, of my mother. Alas ! how little do we appreciate a 
mother's tenderness while living ! how heedless are we in youth 
of all her anxieties and kindness ! But when she is dead and 
gone ; when the cares and coldness of the world come wither- 
ing to our hearts; when we find how hard it is to meet with 
true sympathy, how few love us for ourselves, how few will be- 
friend us in our misfortunes, — then it is that we think of the 
mother we have lost. It is true I had always loved my mother, 

1 A town and watering place of England situated on the Learn, which runs 
into the Avon. 

2 A village not far from Leamington. 



2 20 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

even in my most heedless days ; but I felt how inconsiderate and 
ineffectual had been my love. My heart melted as I retraced 
the days of infancy, when I w^as led by a mother's hand, and 
rocked to sleep in a mother's arms, and was without care or sor- 
row. " O my mother ! " exclaimed I, burying my face again in 
the grass of the grave ; " oh, that I were once more by yoiu* side, 
sleeping never to wake again on the cares and troubles of this 
world ! " 

I am not naturally of a morbid temperament, and the violence 
of my emotion gradually exhausted itself. It was a hearty, honest, 
natural discharge of grief which had been slowly accumulating, 
and gave me wonderful relief. 1 rose from the grave as if I had 
been offering up a sacrifice, and I felt as if that sacrifice h^-d been 
accepted. 

I sat down again on the grass, and plucked, one by one, the 
weeds from her grave ; the tears trickled more slowly down my 
cheeks, and ceased to be bitter. It was a comfort to think that 
she had died before sorrow and poverty came upon her child, and 
all his great expectations were blasted. 

I leaned my cheek upon my hand, and looked upon the land- 
scape. Its quiet beauty soothed me. The whistle of a peasant 
from an adjoining field came cheerily to my ear. I seemed to 
respire hope and comfort with the free air that whispered through 
the leaves, and played lightly with my hair, and dried the tears 
upon my cheek, A lark, rising from the field before me, and 
leaving as it were a stream of song behind him as he rose, hfted 
my fancy with him. He hovered in the air just above the place 
where the towers of Warwick Castle marked the horizon, and 
seemed as if fluttering with dehght at his own melody. " Surely," 
thought I, " if there was such a thing as transmigration of souls, 
this might be taken for some poet let loose from earth, but still 
reveling in song, and caroling about fair fields and lordly towers." 

At this moment the long-forgotten feeling of poetry rose within 
me. A thought sprang at once into my mind. " I will become 
an author ! " said I. " I have hitherto indulged in poetry as a 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 221 

pleasure, and it has brought me nothing but pain ; let me try 
what it will do when I cultivate it with devotion as a pursuit." 

The resolution thus suddenly aroused within me heaved a load 
from off my heart. I felt a confidence in it from the very place 
where it was formed. It seemed as though my mother's spirit 
whispered it to me from the grave. " I will henceforth," said I, 
"endeavor to be all that she fondly imagined me. I will endeavor 
to act as if she were witness of my actions ; I will endeavor to 
acquit myself in such a manner that when I revisit her grave 
there may at least be no compunctious bitterness with my tears." 

I bowed down and kissed the turf in solemn attestation of my 
vow. I plucked some primroses that were growing there, and 
laid them next my heart. I left the churchyard with my spirit 
once more lifted up, and set out a third time for London in the 
character of an author. 

Here my companion made a pause, and I waited in anxious 
suspense, hoping to have a whole volume of literary life unfolded 
to me. He seemed, however, to have sunk into a fit of pensive 
musing ; and when, after some time, I gently roused him by a 
question or two as to his literary career, — " No," said he, smiling, 
" over that part of my story I wish to leave a cloud. Let the 
mysteries of the craft rest sacred for me. Let those who have 
never ventured into the republic of letters still look upon it as a 
fairyland. Let them suppose the author the very being they pic- 
ture him from his works. I am not the man to mar their illusion. 
I am not the man to hint, while one is admiring the silken web 
of Persia,^ that it has been spun from the entrails of a miserable 
worm." 

" Well," said I, " if you will tell me nothing of your literary 
history, let me know at least if you have had any further intelli- 
gence from Doubting Castle." 

"Willingly," replied he; "though I have but little to commu- 
nicate." 

1 Persia is famous for its manufactures of fine silk. 



222 WASHIXGTON IRVING. 



THE BOOBY SQUIRE. 

ALONG time elapsed (said Buckthorne), without my receiv- 
ing any accounts of my cousin and his estate. Indeed, I 
felt so much soreness on the subject that I wished, if possible, 
to shut it from my thoughts. At length chance took me to that 
part of the country, and I could not refrain from making some 
inquiries. 

I learned that my cousin had grown up ignorant, self-willed, 
and clownish. His ignorance and clownishness had prevented 
his mingling with the neighboring gentry. In spite of his great 
fortune he had been unsuccessful in an attempt to gain the hand 
of the daughter of the parson, and had at length shrunk into the 
limits of such a society as a mere man of wealth can gather in a 
country neighborhood. 

He kept horses and hounds, and a roaring table at which were 
collected the loose livers of the country round, and the shabby 
gentlemen of a village in the vicinity. When he could get no 
other company, he would smoke and drink with his own servants, 
who in turn fleeced and despised him. Still, with all his appar- 
ent prodigality, he had a leaven ^ of the old man in him which 
showed that he was his true-born son. He hved far within his 
income, was vulgar in his expenses, and penurious in many points 
wherein a gentleman would be extravagant. His house servants 
were obliged occasionally to work on his estate, and part of the 
pleasure grounds were plowed up and devoted to husbandry. 

His table, though plentiful, was coarse ; his liquors were strong 
and bad ; and more ale and whiskey were expended in his estab- 
hshment than generous wine. He was loud and arrogant at his 
own table, and exacted a rich man's homage from his vulgar and 
obsequious guests. 

As to Iron John, his old grandfather, he had grown impatient 

1 Something that resembles leaven in its effects, as some impalpable influ- 
ence, working a general change in character. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 223 

of the tight hand his own grandson kept over him, and quarreled 
with him soon after he came to the estate. The old man had 
retired to the neighboring village, where he hved on the legacy 
of his late master, in a small cottage, and was as seldom seen 
out of it as a rat out of his hole in daylight. 

The cub, like Cahban,i seemed to have an instinctive attach- 
ment to his mother. She resided with him, but, from long habit, 
she acted more as a servant than as a mistress of the mansion, 
for she toiled in all the domestic drudgery, and was oftener in 
the kitchen than the parlor. Such was the information which 
I collected of my rival cousin, who had so unexpectedly elbowed 
me out of my expectations. 

I now felt an irresistible hankering to pay a visit to this scene 
of my boyhood, and to get a peep at the odd kind of life that 
was passing within the mansion of my maternal ancestors. I 
determined to do so in disguise. My booby cousin had never 
seen enough of me to be very familiar with my countenance, and 
a few years make a great difference between youth and manhood. 
I understood he was a breeder of cattle, and proud of his stock ; 
I dressed myself, therefore, as a substantial farmer, and with the 
assistance of a red scratch that came low down on my forehead, 
made a complete change in my physiognomy. 

It was past three o'clock when I arrived at the gate of the 
park, and was admitted by an old woman who was washing in a 
dilapidated building which had once been a porter's lodge. I 
advanced up the remains of a noble avenue, many of the trees 
of which had been cut down and sold for timber. The grounds 
were in scarcely better keeping than during my uncle's lifetime. 
The grass was overgrown with weeds, and the trees wanted prun- 
ing and clearing of dead branches. Cattle were grazing about 
the lawns, and ducks and geese swimming in the fish ponds. The 
road to the house bore very few traces of carriage wheels, as my 

1 A character mentioned in Shakespeare's play, The Tempest. He Avas a 
savage, deformed slave of Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan. His mother 
was Sycorax, a witch. 



2 24 IVASHIXGTOX IRVING. 

cousin received few visitors but such as came on foot or horse- 
back, and never used a carriage himself. Once, indeed, as I was 
told, he had the old family carriage drawn out from among the 
dust and cobwebs of the coach house, and furbished up, and 
drove with his mother to the village church, to take formal 
possession of the family pew ; but there was such hooting and 
laughing after them as they passed through the village, and such 
giggling and bantering about the church door, that the pageant 
had never made a reappearance. 

As I approached the house, a legion of whelps sallied out, 
barking at me, accompanied by the low howling, rather than 
barking, of two old, worn-out bloodhounds, which I recognized 
for the ancient life guards of my uncle. The house had still a 
neglected, random appearance, though much altered for the bet- 
ter since my last visit. Several of the windows were broken and 
patched up with boards, and others had been bricked up to save 
taxes. ^ I observed smoke, however, rising from the chimneys, a 
phenomenon rarely witnessed in the ancient establishment. On 
passing that part of the house where the dining room was situ- 
ated, I heard the sound of boisterous merriment, where three or 
four voices were talking at once, and oaths and laughter were 
horribly mingled. 

The uproar of the dogs had brought a servant to the door, — a 
tall, hard-fisted, country clown, with a livery coat put over the 
under- garments of a plowman. I requested to see the master 
of the house, but was told that he was at dinner with some 
" gemmen " - of the neighborhood. I made known my business, 
and sent in to know if I might talk with the master about his 
cattle, for I felt a great desire to have a peep at him in his orgies. 

Word was returned that he was engaged with company, and 
could not attend to business, but that if I would step in and take 
a drink of something, I was heartily welcome. I accordingly 

1 A window tax was fornierly levied in England on all windows or open- 
ings, above eight in number, in houses standing in cities or towns. 
- Gentlemen. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 225 

entered the hall, where whips and hats of all kinds and shapes 
were lying on an oaken table ; two or three clownish servants 
were lounging about ; everything had a look of confusion and 
carelessness. 

The apartments through which I passed had the same air of 
departed gentility and sluttish housekeeping. The once rich cur- 
tains were faded and dusty, the furniture, greased and tarnished. 
On entering the dining room, I found a number of odd, vulgar- 
looking, rustic gentlemen seated round a table, on which were 
bottles, decanters, tankards, pipes, and tobacco. Several dogs 
were lying about the room, or sitting and watching their masters, 
and one was gnawing a bone under a side table. The master of 
the feast sat at the head of the board. He was greatly altered. 
He had grown thickset and rather gummy, with a fiery, foxy 
head of hair. There was a singular mixture of foolishness, aiTO- 
gance, and conceit in his countenance. He was dressed in a 
vulgarly fine style, with leather breeches, a red waistcoat, and 
green coat, and was evidently, like his guests, a little flushed 
wnth drinking. The whole company stared at me with a whim- 
sical, muzzy 1 look, like men whose senses were a little obfuscated 
by beer rather than wine. 

My cousin — God forgive me ! the appellation sticks in my 
throat — my cousin invited me, with awkward civility, or, as he 
intended it, condescension, to sit to the table and drink. We 
talked, as usual, about the weather, the crops, pohtics, and hard 
times. My cousin was a loud politician, and evidently accus- 
tomed to talk without contradiction at his own table. He was 
amazingly loyal, and talked of standing by the throne to the last 
guinea, " as every gentleman of fortune should do." The village 
exciseman, who was half asleep, could just ejaculate " very true " 
to everything he said. The conversation turned upon cattle ; he 
boasted of his breed, his mode of crossing it, and of the general 
management of his estate. This unluckily drew out a history 
of the place and of the family. He spoke of my late uncle with 

1 Dazed. 
15 



2 26 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

the greatest irreverence, which I could easily forgive. He men- 
tioned my name, and my blood began to boil. He described 
my frequent visits to my uncle when I was a lad, and I found 
the varlet even at that time, imp as he was, had known that he 
was to inherit the estate. He described the scene of my uncle's 
death, and the opening of the will, with a degree of coarse humor 
that I had not expected from him, and, vexed as I was, I could 
not help joining in the laugh, for I have always relished a joke, 
even though made at my own expense. He went on to speak 
of my various pursuits, my strolling freak, — and that somewhat 
nettled me ; at length he talked of my parents. He ridiculed 
my father ; I stomached even that, though with great difficulty. 
He mentioned my mother with a sneer, and in an instant he lay 
sprawling at my feet. 

Here a tumult succeeded ; the table was nearly overturned, 
bottles, glasses, and tankards rolled crashing and clattering about 
the floor. The company seized hold of both of us, to keep us 
from doing any further mischief. I struggled to get loose, for I 
was boiling with fury. My cousin defied me to strip and fight 
him on the lawn. I agreed, for I felt the strength of a giant in 
me, and I longed to pommel him soundly. 

Away, then, we were borne. A ring was formed. I had a 
second assigned me in true boxing style. My cousin, as he ad- 
vanced to fight, said something about his generosity in showing 
me such fair play, when I had made such an unprovoked attack 
upon him at his own table. " Stop there," cried I, in a rage. 
" Unprovoked ? Know that I am John Buckthorne, and you have 
insulted the memory of my mother." 

The lout was suddenly struck by what I said ; he drew back, 
and thought for a moment. 

"Nay, damn it!" said he, "that's too much — that's clean 
another thing. I've a mother myself, and no one shall speak ill 
of her, bad as she is." 

He paused again ; nature seemed to have a rough struggle in 
his rude bosom. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 227 

" Damn it, cousin," cried he, " I'm sorry for what I said. 
Thou'st served me right in knocking me down, and I hke thee 
the better for it. Here's my hand. Come and Hve with me, and 
damn me! but the best room in the house, and the best horse in 
the stable, shall be at thy service." 

I declare to you I was strongly moved at this instance of 
nature breaking her way through such a lump of flesh. I for- 
gave the fellow in a moment his two heinous crimes, of having 
been born in wedlock, and inheriting my estate. I shook the 
hand he offered me, to convince him that I bore him no ill will, 
and then making my way through the gaping crowd of toad- 
eaters,^ bade adieu to my uncle's domains forever. This is the 
last I have seen or heard of my cousin or of the domestic con- 
cerns of Doubting Castle. 



THE STROLLING MANAGER. 

AS I was walking one morning with Buckthorne near one of 
±\. the principal theaters, he directed my attention to a group 
of those equivocal beings that may often be seen hovering about 
the stage doors of theaters. They were marvelously ill-favored 
in their attire, their coats buttoned up to their chins, yet they 
wore their hats smartly on one side, and had a certain knowing, 
dirty, gentlemanlike air which is common to the subalterns of 
the drama. Buckthorne knew them well by early experience. 

" These," said he, " are the ghosts of departed kings and heroes, 
fellows who sway scepters and truncheons, command kingdoms 
and armies, and after giving away realms and treasures over 
night, have scarce a shilling to pay for a breakfast in the morn- 
ing. Yet they have the true vagabond abhorrence of all useful 
and industrious employment ; and they have their pleasures too, 
one of which is to lounge in this way in the sunshine, at the stage 

1 Flatterers. 



2 28 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

door, during rehearsals, and make hackneyed theatrical jokes on 
all passers-by. Nothing is more traditional and legitimate than 
the stage. Old scenery, old clothes, old sentiments, old ranting, 
and old jokes, are handed down from generation to generation, 
and will probably continue to be so until time shall be no more. 
Every hanger-on of a theater becomes a wag by inheritance, and 
flourishes about at taprooms and sixpenny clubs with the prop- 
erty jokes of the greenroom." 

While amusing ourselves with reconnoitering this group, we 
noticed one in particular who appeared to be the oracle. He 
was a weather-beaten veteran, a little bronzed by time and beer, 
who had no doubt grown gray in the parts of robbers, cardinals, 
Roman senator^, and walking noblemen. 

" There is something in the set of that hat and the turn of 
that physiognomy extremely familiar to me," said Buckthorne. 
He looked a Httle closer. " I cannot be mistaken, that must be 
my old brother of the truncheon, FHmsey, the tragic hero of the 
strolling company." 

It was he in fact. The poor fellow showed evident signs that 
times went hard with him, he was so finely and shabbily dressed. 
His coat was somewhat threadbare, and of the Lord Townly cut, 
single-breasted, and scarcely capable of meeting in front of his 
body, which, from long intimacy, had acquired the symmetry and 
robustness of a beer barrel. He wore a pair of dingy white 
stockinet pantaloons, which had much ado to reach his waistcoat, 
a great quantity of dirty cravat, and a pair of old russet-colored 
tragedy boots. 

When his companions had dispersed, Buckthorne drew him 
aside, and made himself known to him. The tragic veteran could 
scarcely recognize him, or believe that he was really his quondam 
associate, "little Gentleman Jack." Buckthorne invited him to a 
neighboring coffeehouse to talk over old times, and in the course 
of a little while we were put in possession of his history in brief. 

He had continued to act the heroes in the strolling company 
for some time after Buckthorne had left it, or rather had been 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 229 

driven from it so abruptly. At length the manager died, and 
the troop was thrown into confusion. Every one aspired to the 
crown, every one was for taking the lead, and the manager's widow, 
although a tragedy queen, and a brimstone ^ to boot, pronounced 
it utterly impossible for a woman to keep any control over such 
a set of tempestuous rascalHons. 

Upon this hint, I spoke (said FHmsey). I stepped forward, 
and offered my services in the most effectual way. They were 
accepted. In a week's time I married the widow and succeeded 
to the throne. " The funeral baked meats did coldly furnish 
forth the marriage tables," ^ as Hamlet says. But the ghost of my 
predecessor never haunted me, and I inherited crowns, scepters, 
bowls, daggers, and all the stage trappings and trumpery, not 
omitting the widow, without the least molestation. 

I now led a flourishing life of it, for our company was pretty 
strong and attractive, and as my wife and I took the heavy parts 
of tragedy, it was a great saving to the treasury. We carried off 
the palm from all the rival shows at country fairs, and I assure 
you we have even drawn full houses, and been applauded by the 
critics at Bartlemy Fair^ itself, though we had Astley's* troop, 
the Irish giant,^ and *' the death of Nelson " ^ in waxwork to con- 
tend against. 

1 Shrew. 

2 See Shakespeare's Hamlet, act i., sc. 2. The line alludes to the second 
marriage of Hamlet's mother immediately after the death of her first husband. 
Formerly, feasts were provided for funerals as well as for marriages. 

3 Bartholomew Fair, commonly called Bartlemy Fair, was a fair or market 
for drapers, established in the twelfth century in Smithfield, London, and 
held annually from Sept. 3 to Sept. 6, until abolished in 1853. 

* Philip Astley (1742-1814), a famous equestrian, the founder of Astley's 
Amphitheater in London, was the first to exhibit equestrian feats before the 
public. 

5 O'Brian, or Charles Byrne, the Irish giant (1761-83), was eight feet four 
inches tall. His skeleton is preserved in the museum of the College of Sur- 
geons. Patrick Cotter, eight feet seven and a half inches tall, who died in 
1802, also bore the nickname of tlie " Irish giant." 

fi Viscount Horatio Nelson (1758-1805) was one of England's most famous 



230 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

I soon began to experience, however, the cares of command. 
I discovered that there were cabals breaking out in the company, 
headed by the clown, who you may recollect was a terriblv pee- 
vish, fractious fellow, and always in ill humor. I had a great mind 
to turn him off at once, but I could not do without him, for there 
was not a droller scoundrel on the stage. His very shape was 
comic, for he had but to turn his back upon the audience, and 
all the ladies were ready to die with laughing. He felt his impor- 
tance, and took advantage of it. He would keep the audience 
in a continual roar, and then come behind the scenes, and fret 
and fume, and play the very devil. I excused a great deal in him, 
however, knowing that comic actors are a little prone to this 
infirmity of temper. 

I had another trouble of a nearer and dearer nature to struggle 
with, which was the affection of my wife. As ill luck would have 
it, she took it into her head to be very fond of me, and became 
intolerably jealous. I could not keep a pretty girl in the com- 
pany, and hardly dared embrace an ugly one, even when my 
part required it. I have known her reduce a fine lady to tatters, 
" to very rags," ^ as Hamlet says, in an instant, and destroy one 
of the very best dresses in the wardrobe, merely because she saw 
me kiss her at the side scenes, though I give you my honor it was 
done merely by way of rehearsal. 

This was doubly annoying, because I have a natural liking to 
pretty faces, and wish to have them about me, and because they 
are indispensable to the success of a company at a fair, where 
one has to vie with so many rival theaters. But when once a 
jealous wife gets a freak in her head, there's no use in talking 
of interest or anything else. Egad, sir, I have more than once 
trembled when, during a fit of her tantrums, she was playing 

admirals. In his engagement with the French and Spanish fleet off Cape 
Trafalgar (see Note 3, p. 182), a musket ball from one of the enemy's ships 
inflicted a mortal wound, and he died towards the close of the day of his great 
victory. 

1 See Shakespeare's Hamlet, act iii., sc. 2. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 231 

high tragedy, and flourishing her tin dagger on the stage, lest 
she should give way to her humor, and stab some fancied rival 
in good earnest. 

I went on better, however, than could be expected, consider- 
ing the weakness of my flesh, and the violence of my rib.^ I had 
not a much worse time of it than old Jupiter,- whose spouse 
was continually ferreting out some new intrigue, and making the 
heavens almost too hot to hold him. 

At length, as luck would have it, we were performing at a 
country fair, when I understood the theater of a neighboring 
town to be vacant. I had always been desirous to be enrolled 
in a settled company, and the height of my desire was to get on 
a par with a brother-in-law, who was manager of a regular thea- 
ter, and who had looked down upon me. Here was an oppor- 
tunity not to be neglected. I concluded an agreement with the 
proprietors, and in a few days opened the theater with great eclat. 

Behold me now at the summit of my ambition, " the high top- 
gallant of my joy," "^ as Romeo says. No longer a chieftain of a 
wandering tribe, but a monarch of a legitimate throne, and en- 
titled to call even the great potentates of Covent Garden and 
Drury Lane cousins. You, no doubt, think my happiness com- 
plete. Alas, sir ! I was one of the most uncomfortable dogs liv- 
ing. No one knows, who has not tried, the miseries of a man- 
ager, but above all of a country manager. No one can conceive 
the contentions and quarrels within doors, the oppressions and 
vexations from without. I was pestered with the bloods and 
loungers of a country town, who infested my greenroom, and 
played the mischief* among my actresses. But there was no 
shaking them off. It would have been ruin to affront them, for 

1 Wife. 

2 The supreme god of the Romans, whose wife was Juno. The meetings 
of this divine pair often resulted in quarrels and wranglings. At one time 
Juno attempted to chain Jupiter down, and almost succeeded. 

3 See Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, act ii., sc. 4. 
* " Played the mischief," i.e., caused confusion. 



232 WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. 

though troublesome friends, they would have been dangerous 
enemies. Then there were the village critics and village amateurs, 
who were continually tormenting me with advice, and getting into 
a passion if I would not take it, especially the village doctor and 
the village attorney, who had both been to London occasion- 
ally, and knew what acting should be. 

I had also to manage as arrant a crew of scapegraces as ever 
were collected together within the walls of a theater. I had been 
obliged to combine my original troop with some of the former 
troop of the theater, who were favorites of the public. Here 
was a mixture that produced perpetual ferment. They were 
all the time either fighting or frohcking with each other, and I 
scarcely know which mood was least troublesome. If they 
quarreled, everything went wrong, and if they were friends, they 
were continually playing off some prank upon each other, or 
upon me, for I had unhappily acquired among them the char- 
acter of an easy, good-natured fellow, the worst character that a 
manager can possess. 

Their waggery- at times drove me almost crazy, for there is noth- 
ing so vexatious as the hackneyed tricks and hoaxes and pleas- 
antries of a veteran band of theatrical vagabonds. I rehshed 
them well enough, it is true, while I was merely one of the com- 
pany, but as a manager I found them detestable. They were in- 
cessantly bringing some disgrace upon the theater by their tav- 
ern frolics and their pranks about the country town. All my 
lectures about the importance of keeping up the dignity of the 
profession and the respectability of the company were in vain. 
The villains could not sympathize with the delicate feehngs of a 
man in station. They even trifled with the seriousness of stage 
business. I have had the whole piece interrupted, and a crowded 
audience of at least twenty-five pounds kept waiting, because the 
actors had hid away the breeches of Rosalind, ^ and have known 

1 Rosalind, in Shakespeare's play, As You Like It, is driven from the court. 
For her safety while traveling, she disguises herself in man's clothing and 
passes as a shepherd (see act i., sc. 3). 



TALES 01' A TRAVELER, 233 

Hamlet to stalk solemnly on to deliver his soliloquy,^ with a dish 
clout pinned to his skirts. Such are the baleful consequences of 
a manager's getting a character for good nature. 

I was intolerably annoyed, too, by the great actors who came 
down " starring," as it is called, from London. Of all baneful 
influences, keep me from that of a London star! A first-rate 
actress going the rounds of the country theaters is as bad as a 
blazing comet ^ whisking about the heavens, and shaking fire and 
plagues and discords from its tail. 

The moment one of these "heavenly bodies" appeared in my 
horizon, I was sure to be in hot water. "^ My theater was over- 
run by provincial dandies, copper-washed counterfeits of Bond 
Street ^ loungers, who are always proud to be in the train of an 
actress from town, and anxious to be thought on exceeding good 
terms with her. It was really a relief to me when some random 
young nobleman would come in pursuit of the bait, and awe all 
this small fry at a distance. I have always felt myself more at 
ease with a nobleman than with the dandy of a country town. 

And then the injuries I suffered in my personal dignity and 
my managerial authority from the visits of these great London 
actors ! 'Sblood, sir, I was no longer master of myself on my 
throne. I was hectored and lectured in my own greenroom, and 
made an absolute nincompoop -^ on my own stage. There is no 
tyrant so absolute and capricious as a London star at a country 
theater. I dreaded the sight of all of them, and yet if I did not 

1 Hamlet's soliloquy when he was contemplating suicide, beginning, " To 
be or not to be," is one of the most famous passages in Shakespeare's work§ 
(see act iii., sc. i). 

2 The appearance of comets was formerly supposed to be closely connected 
with the prevalence of epidemic diseases. 

3 " In hot water," i.e., in difficulty. 

4 Bond Street, the fashionable street of London, is so narrow that coaches 
are often impeded in their progress. By this defect the Bond Street loungers 
are afforded glimpses of the fashionables who pass and repass from two to 
five o'clock in the afternoon. 

5 Stupid. 



234 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

engage them, I was sure of having the pubUc clamorous against 
me. They drew full houses, and appeared to be making my for- 
tune, but they swallowed up all the profits by their insatiable de- 
mands. They were absolute tapeworms to my little theater; the 
more it took in the poorer it grew. They were sure to leave me 
with an exhausted public, empty benches, and a score or two of 
affronts to settle among the townsfolk, in consequence of misun- 
derstandings about the taking of places. 

But the worst thing I had to undergo in my managerial career 
was patronage. Oh, sir, of all things dehver me from the patron- 
age of the great people of a country town 1 It was my ruin. You 
must know that this town, though small, was filled with feuds, 
and parties, and great folks, being a busy little trading and manu- 
facturing town. The mischief was that their greatness was of a 
kind not to be settled by reference to the Court Calendar^ or 
College of Heraldry ; ^ it was therefore the most quan-elsome kind 
of greatness in existence. You smile, sir, but let me tell you 
there are no feuds more furious than the frontier feuds which take 
place in these " debatable lands " of gentihty. The most violent 
dispute that I ever knew in high life was one which occurred at 
a country town, on a question of precedence between the ladies 
of a manufacturer of pins and a manufacturer of needles. 

At the town where I was situated there were perpetual alterca- 
tions of the kind. The head manufacturer's lady, for instance, 
was at daggers drawings with the head shopkeeper's, and both 
were too rich and had too many friends to be treated hghtly. 
The doctor's and lawyer's ladies held their heads still higher, but 
they in turn were kept in check by the wife of a country banker, 
who kept her own carriage ; while a masculine widow of cracked 
character 2 and second-handed fashion, who hved in a large house 

1 See Note 2, p. 154. 

2 A royal corporation in England, called also " College at Arms," insti- 
tuted in the fifteenth century. Its chief business is the granting of armorial 
bearings, and the tracing and preserving of genealogies. 

3 " Of cracked character," i.e., crazy. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 235 

and claimed to be in some way related to nobility, looked down 
upon them all. To be sure, her manners were not over elegant, 
nor her fortune over large, but then, sir, her blood — oh, her blood 
carried it all hollow ! ^ lliere was no withstanding a woman with 
such blood in her veins. 

After all, her claims to high connection were questioned, and 
she had frequent battles for precedence at balls and assemblies 
with some of the sturdy dames of the neighborhood, who stood 
upon their wealth and their virtue ; but then she had two dashing 
daughters, who dressed as fine as dragoons, and had as high blood 
as their mother, and seconded her in everything ; so they carried 
their point with high heads, and everybody hated, abused, and 
stood in awe of, the Fantadlins. 

Such was the state of the fashionable world in this self-impor- 
tant little town. Unluckily, I was not as well acquainted with 
its poUtics as I should have been. I had found myself a stranger 
and in great perplexities during my first season ; I determined, 
therefore, to put myself under the patronage of some powerful 
name, and thus to take the field with the prejudices of the public 
in my favor. I cast around my thoughts for that purpose, and 
in an evil hour they fell upon Mrs. Fantadlin. No one seemed 
to me to have a more absolute sway in the world of fashion. I 
had always noticed that her party slammed the box door the loud- 
est at the theater, and had the most beaux attending on them, 
and talked and laughed loudest during the performance, and then 
the Miss Fantadlins wore always more feathers and flowers than 
any other ladies, and used quizzing glasses ^ incessantly. The 
first evening of my theater's reopening, therefore, was announced 
in staring capitals on the playbills as under the patronage of the 
" Honorable Mrs. FantadHn." 

Sir, the whole community flew to arms! The banker's wife 
felt her dignity grievously insulted at not having the preference, 
her husband being high bailiff, and the richest man in the place. 

1 To " carry all hollow " is to carry beyond doubt or question. 

2 " Quizzing glasses," i, e., small eyeglasses. 



236 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

She immediately issued invitations for a large party for the night 
of the performance, and asked many a lady to it whom she 
had never noticed before. Presume to patronize the theater ! 
Insufferable ! And then for me to dare to term her the '' Hon- 
orable ! " What claim had she to the title, forsooth ? The 
fashionable world had long groaned under the tyranny of the 
Fantadlins, and were glad to make a common cause against this 
new instance of assumption. Those, too, who had never before 
been noticed by the banker^s lady were ready to enlist in any 
quarrel for the honor of her acquaintance. All minor feuds 
were forgotten. The doctor's lady and the lawyer's lady met 
together, and the manufacturer's lady and the shopkeeper's lady 
kissed each other ; and all, headed by the banker's lady, voted 
the theater a bore^ and determined to encourage nothing but the 
Indian Jugglers and Mr. Walker's Eidouranion.i 

Alas for poor Pillgarhck ! I little knew the mischief that was 
brewing against me. My box book remained blank ; the evening 
arrived, but no audience. The music struck up to a tolerable 
pit and gallery,^ but no fashionables. I peeped anxiously from 
behind the curtain, but the time passed away ; the play was re- 
tarded until pit and gallery became furious, and I had to raise 
the curtain, and play my greatest part in tragedy to ^^ a beggarly 
account of empty boxes." ^ 

It is true the Fantadlins came late, as was their custom, and 
entered like a tempest, with a flutter of feathers and red shawls ; 
but they were evidently disconcerted at finding they had no one 
to admire and envy them, and were enraged at this glaring de- 
fection of their fashionable followers. All the beau nwiide were 



1 The name given to a mechanical contrivance for representing the motions 
of the heavenly bodies. It was invented by Adam Walker (1731-1821), an 
English mechanician. 

2 The two cheapest parts of a theater were the pit and the gallery. The 
pit, in old English theaters, was the part on the floor of the house below the 
level of the stage. 

3 See Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, act v., sc. i. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 237 

engaged at the banker's lady*s rout. They remained for some 
time in soHtary and uncomfortable state, and though they had 
the theater almost to themselves, yet, for the first time, they talked 
in whispers. They left the house at the end of the first piece, and 
I never saw them afterv/ards. 

Such was the rock on which I split. I never got over the pat- 
ronage of the Fantadlin family. My house was deserted, my 
actors grew discontented because they were ill paid, my door be- 
came a hammering place for every bailiff in the country, and my 
wife became more and more shrewish and tormenting the more 
I wanted comfort. 

I tried for a time the usual consolation of a harassed and hen- 
pecked man ; I took to the bottle, and tried to tipple away my 
cares, but in vain. I don't mean to decry the bottle ; it is, no 
doubt, an excellent remedy in many cases, but it did not answer 
in mine. It cracked my voice, coppered 1 my nose, but neither 
improved my wife nor my affairs. My establishment became a 
scene of confusion and peculation. I was considered a ruined 
man, and of course fair game for every one to pluck at, as every 
one plunders a sinking ship. Day after day some of the troop 
deserted, and, like deserting soldiers, carried off their arms and 
accouterments with them. In this manner my wardrobe took 
legs and walked away, my finery strolled all over the country, my 
swords and daggers glittered, in every barn, until, at last, my tailor 
made '^ one fell swoop," ^ and carried off three dress coats, half 
a dozen doublets, and nineteen pairs of flesh-colored pantaloons. 
This was the ^^ be-all and the end-all " ^ of my fortune. I no 
longer hesitated what to do. Egad, thought I, since stealing is 
the order of the day, I'll steal too ; so I secretly gathered to- 
gether the jewels of my wardrobe, packed up a hero's dress in a 
handkerchief, slung it on the end of a tragedy sword, and quietly 

1 Made red, or of the color of copper. 

2 " One fell swoop," i.e., one cruel seizure (see Shakespeare's Macbeth, 
act iv., sc. 3). 

3 See Macbeth, act i., sc. 7. 



238 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Stole off at dead of night, " the bell then beating one," ^ leaving 
my queen and kingdom to the mercy of my rebellious subjects, 
and my merciless foes, the bumbaihffs.- 

Such, sir, was the " end of all my greatness." ^ I was heartily 
cured of all passion for governing, and returned once more into 
the ranks. I had for some time the usual run of an actor's life. 
I played in various country theaters, at fairs, and in barns, some- 
times hard pushed, sometimes flush, until, on one occasion, I came 
within an ace* of making my fortune and becoming one of the 
wonders of the age. 

I was playing the part of Richard III.^ in a country barn, 
and in my best style, for, to tell the truth, I was a little in liquor, 
and the critics of the company always observed that I played 
with most effect when I had a glass too much. There was a 
thunder of applause when I came to that part where Richard 
cries for " a horse ! a horse ! " My cracked voice had always 
a wonderful effect here ; it was like two voices run into one ; 
you would have thought two men had been calling for a horse, 
or that Richard had called for two horses. And when I flung 
the taunt at Richmond, " Richard is hoarse with calling thee to 
arms," ^ I thought the barn would have come down about my 
ears with the raptures of the audience. 

The very next morning a person waited upon me at my lodg- 
ings. I saw at once he was a gentleman by his dress, for he 

1 See Shakespeare's Hamlet, act 1., sc. i. 

2 Sheriff's officers, who serve writs, make arrests, etc. 

3 See Shakespeare's Henry VIH., act iii., sc. 2. " Farewell, a long fare- 
well, to all my greatness ! " 

4 " Within an ace," i.e., very near. 

5 King Richard III. of England (1452-85), the hero of Shakespeare's play 
of the same name. The play ends with the Battle of Bosworth Field. 
Richard's horse is shot from under him, and he comes upon the field crying, 
" A horse I a horse ! my kingdom for a horse!" (see act v., sc. 4). 

* The quotation is " Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms," from 
Shakespeare's Henry VI., part ii., act. v., sc. 2. It has been transposed for 
the purpose of making a pun on the word " horse." 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 239 

had a large brooch in his bosom, thick rings on his fingers, and 
used a quizzing glass. And a gentleman he proved to be, for I 
soon ascertained that he was a kept author, or kind of literary- 
tailor to one of the great London theaters, — one who worked 
under the manager's directions, and cut up and cut down plays, 
and patched and pieced, and new faced, and turned them inside 
out ; in short, he was one of the readiest and greatest writers of 
the day. 

He was now on a foraging excursion in quest of something 
that might be got up for a prodigy. The theater, it seems, was 
in desperate condition ; nothing but a miracle could save it. He 
had seen me act Richard the night before, and had pitched upon 
me for that miracle. I had a remarkable bluster in my style and 
swagger in my gait. I certainly differed from all other heroes of 
the barn, so the thought struck the agent to bring me out as a 
theatrical wonder ; as the restorer of natural and legitimate act- 
ing ; as the only one who could understand and act Shakespeare 
rightly. 

When he opened his plan, I shrunk from it with becoming 
modesty, for, well as I thought of myself, I doubted my com- 
petency to such an undertaking. 

I hinted at my imperfect knowledge of Shakespeare, having 
played his characters only after mutilated copies interlarded with 
a great deal of my own talk by way of helping memory or height- 
ening the effect. 

" So much the better ! " cried the gentleman with rings on his 
fingers ; " so much the better ! New readings, sir ! new read- 
ings ! Don't study a line ; let us have Shakespeare after your 
own fashion." 

" But then my voice is cracked ; it could not fill a London 
theater." 

" So much the better ! so much the better ! The public is 
tired of intonation ; the ore rotimdo ^ has had its day. No, sir, 
your cracked voice is the very thing ; spit and splutter, and snap 

1 Latin for " round, full voice." 



240 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

and snarl, and play the very dog i about the stage, and you'll be 
the making of us." 

" But then " — I could not help blushing to the end of my very 
nose as I said it, but I was determined to be candid — ''but 
then," added I, " there is one awkward circumstance. I have an 
unlucky habit ; my misfortunes, and the exposures to which one 
is subjected in country barns, have obliged me now and then to 
— to — take a drop of something comfortable — and so — and 
so" — 

" What ! you drink ? " cried the agent, eagerly. 

I bowed my head in blushing acknowledgment. 

" So much the better ! so much the better ! The irregularities 
of genius ! A sober fellow is commonplace. The public like 
an actor that drinks. Give me your hand, sir. You're the very 
man to make a dash with." 

I still hung back with lingering diffidence, declaring myself 
unworthy of such praise. 

" 'Sblood, man," cried he, " no praise at all. You don't imagine 
/ think you a wonder ; I only want the public to think so. Noth- 
ing is so easy as to gull the public, if you only set up a prodigy. 
Common talent anybody can measure by common rule ; but a 
prodigy sets all rule and measurement at defiance." 

These words opened my eyes in an instant. We now came 
to a proper understanding, less flattering, it is true, to my vanity, 
but much more satisfactory to my judgment. 

It was agreed that I should make my appearance before a 
London audience, as a dramatic sun just bursting from behind 
the clouds, — one that was to banish all the lesser Hghts and false 
fires of the stage. Every precaution was to be taken to possess 
the public mind at every avenue. The pit was to be packed 
with sturdy clappers ; the newspapers secured by vehement puf- 
fers ; 2 every theatrical resort to be haunted by hireling talkers. 
In a word, every engine of theatrical humbug was to be put in 

1 " Play the very dog," i.e., act like a dog. 

2 Persons secured by pay tc give extravagant praise. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 241 

action. Wherever I differed from former actors, it was to be 
maintained that I was right and they were wrong. If I rant(*d, 
it was to be pure passion ; if I were vulgar, it was to be pro- 
nounced a famihar touch of nature ; if I made any queer blunder, 
it was to be a new reading. If my voice cracked, or I got out in 
my part, I was only to bounce, and grin, and snarl at the audience, 
and make any horrible grimace that came into my head, and 
my admirers were to call it " a great point," and to fall back and 
shout and yell with rapture. 

" In short," said the gentleman with the quizzing glass, " strike 
out boldly and bravely, no matter how or what you do, so that 
it be but odd and strange. If you do but escape pelting the first 
night, your fortune and the fortune of the theater are made." 

I set off for Lonck)n, therefore, in company with the kept au- 
thor, full of new plans and new hopes. I was to be the restorer 
of Shakespeare, and nature, and the legitimate drama ; my very 
swagger was to be heroic, and my cracked voice the standard of 
elocution. Alas, sir, my usual luck attended me. Before I ar- 
rived at the metropohs a rival wonder had appeared, — a woman 
who could dance the slack rope, and run up a cord from the stage 
to the gallery, with fireworks all round her. She was seized on 
by the manager with avidity. She w^as the saving of the great 
national theater for the season. Nothing was talked of but Ma- 
dame Saqui's fireworks and flesh-colored pantaloons ; and nature, 
Shakespeare, the legitimate drama, and poor Pillgarlick, were 
completely left in the lurch. 

When Madame Saqui's performance grew stale other wonders 
succeeded : horses, and harlequinades, and mummery of all kinds, 
until another dramatic prodigy waj^ brought forward to play the 
very game for which I had been intended. I called upon the 
kept author for an explanation, but he was deeply engaged in 
writing a melodrama or a pantomime, and was extremely testy 
on being interrupted in his studies. However, as the theater was 
in some measure pledged to provide for me, the manager acted, 
according to the usual phrase, " Hke a man of honor," and I re- 
16 



242 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

ceived an appointment in the corps. It had been a turn of a 
die whether I should be Alexander the Great ^ or Alexander the 
coppersmith ; 2 the latter carried it. I could not be put at the 
head of the drama, so I was put at the tail of it. In other words, 
I was enrolled among the number of what are called "useful men," 
those who enact soldiers, senators, and Banquo's shadowy Une.^ 
I was perfectly satisfied with my lot, for I have always been a 
bit of a philosopher. If my situation was not splendid, it at least 
was secure, and in fact I have seen half a dozen prodigies appear, 
dazzle, burst like bubbles, and pass away, and yet here I am, 
snug, unenvied, and unmolested, at the foot of the profession. 

You may smile ; but let me tell you, we " useful men " are the 
only comfortable actors on the stage. We are safe from hisses, 
and below the hope of applause. We fear not the success of 
rivals, nor dread the critic's pen. So long as we get the words 
of our parts — and they are not often many — it is all we care for. 
W^e have our own merriment, our own friends, and our own ad- 
mirers, for every actor has his friends and admirers, from the 
highest to the lowest. The first-rate actor dines with the noble 
amateur, and entertains a fashionable table with scraps and songs 
and theatrical slipslop. The second-rate actors have their second- 
rate friends and admirers, with whom they likewise spout tragedy 
and talk shpslop ; and so down even to us, who have our friends 
and admirers among spruce clerks and aspiring apprentices, who 
treat us to a dinner now and then, and enjoy at tenth hand the 
same scraps and songs and slipslop that have been served up by 
our more fortunate brethren at the tables of the great. 

I now, for the first time in my theatrical life, experience what 
true pleasure is. I have known enough of notoriety to pity the 

1 Alexander the Great (356-323 B.C.), King of Macedon, one of the 
most wonderful and famous generals of ancient times. 

2 See 2 Tim. iv. 14. 

3 " Banquo's shadowy line," i.e., ghosts. Banquo, a character in Shake- 
speare's Macbeth, is secretly murdered by Macbeth, who is thereafter haunted 
by Banquo's ghost. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 243 

poor devils who are called " favorites of the public." I would 
rather be a kitten in the arms of a spoiled child, to be one 
moment patted and pampered and the next moment thumped 
over the head with the spoon. I smile to see our leading actors 
fretting themselves with envy and jealousy about a trumpery re- 
nown, questionable in its quality, and uncertain in its duration. I 
laugh, too, though of course in my sleeve, at the bustle and impor- 
tance, and trouble and perplexities, of our manager, w^ho is harass- 
ing himself to death in the hopeless effort to please everybody. 

I have found among my fellow-subalterns two or three quondam 
managers, who like myself have wielded the scepters of country 
theaters, and we have many a sly joke together at the expense of 
the manager and the public. Sometimes, too, we meet, like de- 
posed and exiled kings, talk over the events of our respective 
reigns, moralize over a tankard of ale, and laugh at the humbug 
of the great and little world, which, I take it, is the essence of 
practical philosophy. 

Thus end the anecdotes of Buckthorne and his friends. It 
grieves me much that I could not procure from him further par- 
ticulars of his history, and especially of that part of it which 
passed in town. He had evidently seen much of hterary life, 
and, as he had never risen to eminence in letters, and yet was 
free from the gall of disappointment, I had hoped to gain some 
candid inteUigence concerning his contemporaries. The testi- 
mony of such an honest chronicler would have been particularly 
valuable at the present time, when, owing to the extreme fecun- 
dity of the press, and the thousand anecdotes, criticisms, and bio- 
graphical sketches that are daily poured forth concerning public 
characters, it is extremely difficult to get at any truth concerning 
them. 

He was always, however, excessively reserved and fastidious 
on this point, at which I very much wondered, authors in general 
appearing to think each other fair game, and being ready to serve 
each other up for the amusement of the public. 



244 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

A few mornings after hearing the history of the ex-manager, I 
was surprised by a visit from Buckthome before I was out of bed. 
He was dressed for travehng. " Give me joy I give me joy ! " 
said he, rubbing his hands with the utmost glee ; " my great ex- 
pectations are reaHzed ! " 

I gazed at him with a look of wonder and inquiry. 

" My booby cousin is dead ! " cried he ; " may he rest in peace ! 
He nearly broke his neck in a fall from his horse in a fox chase. 
By good luck, he lived long enough to make his wnll. He has 
made me his heir, partly out of an odd feeling of retributive jus- 
tice, and partly because, as he says, none of his own family or 
friends know how to enjoy such an estate. I'm off to the coun- 
try to take possession. I've done with authorship. That for the 
critics I " said he, snapping his finger. " Come down to Doubt- 
ing Castle, when I get settled, and, egad, I'll give you a rouse." ^ 
So sanng, he shook me heartily by the hand, and bounded off in 
high spirits. 

A long time elapsed before I heard from him again. Indeed, 
it w^as but lately that I received a letter, wTitten in the happiest 
of moods. He was getting the estate in fine order ; everything 
went to his wishes ; and, what was more, he was married to Sach- 
arissa, who it seems had always entertained an ardent, though 
secret, attachment for him, which he fortunately discovered just 
after coming to his estate. 

" I find," said he, " you are a little given to the sin of author- 
ship, which I renounce ; if the anecdotes I have given you of my 
story are of any interest, you may make use of them ; but come 
down to Doubting Castle, and see how we hve, and I'll give you 
my whole London hfe over a social glass, and a rattling history 
it shall be about authors and reviewers." 

If ever I visit Doubting Castle and get the history he promises, 
the public shall be sure to hear of it. 

1 Good time. 



PART III. 



THE ITALIAN BANDITTI. 



245 



THE INN AT TERRACINA. 

CRACK ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! 
" Here comes the estafette ^ from Naples," said mine host 
of the inn at Terracina ; - " bring out the relay." 

The estafette came galloping up the road according to custom, 
brandishing over his head a short-handled whip, with a long, 
knotted lash, every smack of which made a report like a pistol. 
He was a tight, square-set young fellow, in the usual uniform, — a 
smart blue coat ornamented with facings and gold lace, but so 
short behind as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked 
up not unlike the tail of a wren ; a cocked hat edged with gold 
lace ; a pair of stiff riding boots ; but, instead of the usual leathern 
breeches, he had a fragment of a pair of drawers that scarcely 
furnished an apology for modesty to hide behind. 

The estafette galloped up to the door, and jumped from his 
horse. 

" A glass of rosolio,^ a fresh horse, and a pair of breeches ; " 
said he, " and quickly, per P amor di Dio I ^ I am behind my time, 
and must be off ! " 

" San Gennaro ! " ^ replied the host ; " why, where hast thou 
left thy garment ? " 

" Among the robbers between this and Fondi." ^ 

1 A courier who conveys messages to another courier. 

2 A seaport town of Italy, on the Gulf of Terracina in the Mediterranean, 
fifty-eight miles southeast of Rome. 

3 A red wine. * For the love of God. 

5 San Gennaro, or Saint Jannarius (272-305), was the patron saint of 
Naples. He was beheaded in 305. 

6 A town near the western coast of Italy, at the southern extremity of the 
Pontine Marshes (see Note i, p. 248). 

247 



248 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

" What, rob an estafette ! I never heard of such folly. What 
could they hope to get from thee ? " 

" My leather breeches ! " rephed the estafette. " They were 
bran new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy of the captain." 

" Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To meddle with 
an estafette, and that merely for the sake of a pair of leather 
breeches ! " 

The robbing of the government messenger seemed to strike the 
host with more astonishment than any other enormity that had 
taken place on the road ; and, indeed, it was the first time so 
wanton an outrage had been committed, the robbers generally 
taking care not to meddle with anything belonging to govern- 
ment. 

The estafette was by this time equipped, for he had not lost 
an instant in making his preparations while talking. The relay 
was ready, the rosolio tossed off; he grasped the reins and the 
stirrup. 

" W^ere there many robbers in the band ? " said a handsome, 
dark young man, stepping forward from the door of the inn. 

" As formidable a band as ever I saw," said the estafette, 
springing into the saddle. 

" Are they cruel to travelers ? " said a beautiful young Vene- 
tian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman's arm. 

" Cruel, signora ! " echoed the estafette, giving a glance at the 
lady as he put spurs to his horse. " Corpo di Bacco ! ^ They 
stiletto all the men, and, as to the women" — Crack ! crack! 
crack ! crack ! crack ! The last words were drowned in the 
smacking of the w^hip, and away galloped the estafette along the 
road to the Pontine Marshes.- 

" Holy Virgin ! " ejaculated the fair Venetian, " what will be- 
come of us ! " 

1 Body of Bacchus. Bacchus was the god of wine among the Greeks and 
Romans. 

2 A marshy tract of Italy, extending along the Mediterranean Sea from 
Cisterna on the north to Terracina on the south. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 249 

The inn of which we are speaking stands just outside of the 
walls of Terracina, under a vast, precipitous height of rocks, 
crowned with the ruins of the castle of Theodoric the Goth.i 
The situation of Terracina is remarkable. It is a little, ancient, 
lazy Italian town, on the frontiers of the Roman territory. There 
seems to be an idle pause in everything about the place. The 
Mediterranean spreads before it, — that sea without flux or reflux. 
The port is without a sail, excepting that once in a while a solitary 
felucca 2 may be seen disgorging its holy cargo of baccala, or 
codfish, the meager provision for the quaresima, or Lent. The 
inhabitants are apparently a listless, heedless race, as people of 
soft, sunny climates are apt to be, but under this passive, indolent 
exterior are said to lurk dangerous qualities. They are supposed 
by many to be little better than the banditti of the neighboring 
mountains, and indeed to hold a secret correspondence with them. 
The solitary watchtowers erected here and there along the coast 
speak of pirates and corsairs that hover about these shores, while 
the low huts, as stations for soldiers, which dot the distant road, 
as it wnnds up through an olive grove, intimate that in the ascent 
there is danger for the traveler, and. facility for the bandit. In- 
deed, it is between this town and Fondi that the road to Naples 
is most infested by banditti. It has several windings and solitary 
places, where the robbers are enabled to see the traveler from a 
distance, from the brows of hills or impending precipices, and to 
lie in wait for him at lonely and difficult passes. 

The Italian robbers are a desperate class of men, that have 
almost formed themselves into an order of society. They wear 
a kind of uniform, or rather costume, which openly designates 
their profession. This is probably done to diminish its skulking, 
lawless character, and to give it something of a military air in 

1 Theodoric (454-526), King of the Ostrogoths (see Note 2, p. 262), 
conquered Italy, and reigned over it for thirty-three years, a period of unex- 
ampled peace and happiness for the Italians. 

2 A small vessel once common on the Mediterranean, propelled by oars 
and sails. 



250 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

the eyes of the common people, or, perhaps, to catch by outward 
show and finery the fancies of the young men of the villages, and 
thus to gain recruits. Their dresses are often very rich and pic- 
turesque. They wear jackets and breeches of bright colors, some- 
times gayly embroidered ; their breasts are covered with medals 
and relics ; their hats are broad-brimmed, with conical crowns, 
decorated with feathers, of variously colored ribands ; ^ their hair 
is sometimes gathered in silk nets ; they wear a kind of sandal of 
cloth or leather, bound round the legs with thongs, and extremely 
flexible, to enable them to scramble with ease and celerity among 
the mountain precipices ; a broad belt of cloth, or a sash of silk 
net, is stuck full of pistols and stilettos ; a carbine is slung at the 
back ; while about them is generally thrown, in a negligent man- 
ner, a great dingy mantle, which serves as a protection in storms, 
or a bed in their bivouacs among the mountains. 

They range over a great extent of wild country, along the 
chain of Apennines, bordering on different states ; they know all 
the difficult passes, the short cuts for retreat, and the impractica- 
ble forests of the mountain summits, w^here no force dare follow 
them. They are secure of tlie good will of the inhabitants of 
those regions, a poor and semibarbarous race, whom they never 
disturb and often enrich. Indeed, they are considered as a sort 
of illegitimate heroes among the mountain villages, and in cer- 
tain frontier towns where they dispose of their plunder. Thus 
countenanced, and sheltered and secure in the fastnesses of their 
mountains, the robbers have set the weak police of the Italian 
states at defiance. It is in vain that their names and descrip- 
tions are posted on the doors of country churches, and rewards 
offered for them alive or dead ; the villagers are either too much 
awed by the terrible instances of vengeance inflicted by the brig- 
ands, or have too good an understanding with them to be their 
betrayers. It is true they are now and then hunted and shot 
down like beasts of prey by the gendarmes,^ their heads put in 
iron cages, and stuck upon posts by the roadside, or their limbs 

1 Ribbons. 2 Armed police. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 251 

hung up to blacken in the trees near the places where they have 
committed their atrocities ; but these ghastly spectacles only serve 
to make some dreary pass of the road still more dreary, and to 
dismay the traveler, without deterring the bandit. 

At the time that the estafette made his sudden appearance al- 
most €71 cuerpo} as has been mentioned, the audacity of the rob- 
bers had risen to an unparalleled height. They had laid villas 
under contribution ; they had sent messages into country towns, 
to tradesmen and rich burghers, demanding supplies of money, 
of clothing, or even of luxuries, with menaces of vengeance in 
case of refusal. They had their spies and emissaries in every 
town, village, and inn along the principal roads, to give them 
notice of the movements and quality of travelers. They had 
plundered carriages, carried people of rank and fortune into the 
mountains, and obliged them to write for heavy ransoms, and 
had committed outrages on females who had fallen into their 
hands. 

Such was, briefly, the state of the robbers, or rather such was 
the account of the rumors prevalent concerning them, when the 
scene took place at the inn of Terracina. The dark, handsome 
young man and the A'^enetian lady, incidentally mentioned, had 
arrived early that afternoon in a private carriage drawn by mules, 
and attended by a single servant. They had been recently mar- 
ried, were spending the honeymoon in traveling through these 
delicious countries, and were on their way to visit a rich aunt of 
the bride at Naples. 

The lady was yoimg, and tender, and timid. The stories she 
had heard along the road had filled her with apprehension, not 
more for herself than for her husband, for though she had been 
married almost a month, she still loved him almost to idolatry. 
When she reached Terracina, the rumors of the road had in- 
creased to an alarming magnitude, and the sight of two robbers' 
skulls, grinning in iron cages, on each side of the old gateway 
of the town, brought her to a pause. Her husband had tried in 

1 ^' En cjierpo de camisa,'''' Spanish for " half-dressed." 



252 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

vain to reassure her ; they had Hngered all the afternoon at the 
inn, until it was too late to think of starting that evening, and 
the parting words of the estafette completed her affright. 

" Let us return to Rome," said she, putting her arm within her 
husband's, and drawing towards him as if for protection. " Let 
us return to Rome, and give up this visit to Naples." 

"And give up the visit to yoiu- aunt, too ? " said the husband. 

" Nay, what is my aunt in comparison with your safety ? " said 
she, looking up tenderly in his face. 

There was something in her tone and manner that showed she 
really was thinking more of her husband's safety at the moment 
than of her own ; and being so recently married, and a match of 
pure affection, too, it is very possible that she was ; at least her 
husband thought so. Indeed, any one who has heard the sweet, 
musical tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of 
a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a Venetian eye, 
would not wonder at the husband's believing whatever they pro- 
fessed. He clasped the white hand that had been laid within 
his, put his arm around her slender waist, and drawing her fondly 
to his bosom, "This night at least," said he, "we will pass at 
Terracina." 

Crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! Another apparition 
of the road attracted the attention of mine host and his guests. 
From the direction of the Pontine Marshes a carriage, drawn by 
half a dozen horses, came driving at a furious rate, the postiHons 
smacking their whips like mad, as is the case when conscious of 
the greatness, or of the munificence, of their fare. It was a lan- 
daulet with a servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, 
highly finished, yet proudly simple, construction of the carriage ; 
the quantity of neat, well-arranged trunks and conveniences ; the 
loads of box coats on the dickey ; the fresh, burly, bluff-looking 
face of the master at the window ; and the ruddy, roundheaded 
servant, in close-cropped hair, short coat, drab breeches, and long 
gaiters, all proclaimed at once that this was the equipage of an 
Englishman. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 253 

" Horses to Fondi," said the Englishman, as the landlord came 
bowing to the carriage door. 

" Would not his Excellenza 1 alight, and take some refresh- 
ments ? " 

No, he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi. 

'* But the horses will be some time in getting ready." 

" Ah ! that's always the way ; nothing but delay in this cursed 
country ! " 

" If his Excellenza would only walk into the house " — 

" No, no, no ! I tell you no ! I want nothing but horses, and 
as quick as possible. John, see that the horses are got ready, 
and don't let us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him if we're 
delayed over the time, I'll lodge a complaint with the postmaster." 

John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master's orders 
with the taciturn obedience of an English servant. 

In the mean time the Englishman got out of the carriage, and 
walked up and down before the inn, with his hands in his pock- 
ets, taking no notice of the crowd of idlers who were gazing at 
him and his equipage. He was tall, stout, and well made, dressed 
with neatness and precision, wore a traveling cap of the color of 
gingerbread, and had rather an unhappy expression about the 
corners of his mouth, partly from not having yet made his din- 
ner, and partly from not having been able to get on at a greater 
rate than seven miles an hour. Not that he had any other cause 
for haste than an Englishman's usual hurry to get to the end of 
a journey, or, to use the regular phrase, " to get on." Perhaps, 
too, he was a little sore from having been fleeced at every stage. 

After some time the servant returned from the stable with a 
look of some perplexity. 

" Are the horses ready, John ? " 

" No, sir ; I never saw such a place. There's no getting any- 
thing done. I think your honor had better step into the house 
and get something to eat ; it will be a long while before we get 
to Fundy." 

I His Excellency, a title of honor or respect. 



2 54 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

" D — n the house ! it's a mere trick. I'll not eat anything, 
just to spite them," said the Englishman, still more crusty at the 
prospect of being so long without his dinner. 

"They say your honor's very wrong," said John, "to set off at 
this late hour. The road's full of highwaymen." 

" Mere tales to get custom." 

" The estafette which passed us was stopped by a whole gang," 
said John, increasing his emphasis with each additional piece of 
information. 

" I don't believe a word of it." 

" They robbed him of his breeches," said John, giving at the 
same time a hitch to his own waistband. 

"All humbug!" 

Here the dark, handsome young man stepped forward, and 
addressing the Englishman very politely, in broken English, in- 
vited him to partake of a repast he was about to make. 

" Thank'ee," said the Englishman, thrusting his hands deeper 
into his pockets, and casting a sly side glance of suspicion at the 
young man, as if he thought, from his civilit)'-, he must have a de- 
sign upon his purse. 

" We shall be most happy if j^ou will do us the favor," said the 
lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a sweetness in her 
accents that was most persuasive. The Englishman cast a look 
upon her countenance ; her beauty was still more eloquent. His 
features instantly relaxed. He made a polite bow. " With great 
pleasure, signora," ^ said he. 

In short, the eagerness to " get on " was suddenly slackened, 
the determination to famish himself as far as Fondi, by way of 
punishing the landlord, was abandoned ; John chose an apart- 
ment in the inn for his master's reception, and preparations were 
made to remain there until morning. 

The carriage was unpacked of such of its contents as were in- 
dispensable for the night. There was the usual parade of trunks, 
and writing desks, and portfolios, and dressing boxes, and those 

1 Madam. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 255 

other oppressive conveniences which burden a comfortable man. 
The observant loiterers about the inn door, wrapped up in great 
dirt-colored cloaks, with only a hawk's eye uncovered, made 
many remarks to each other on this quantity of luggage, that 
seemed enough for an army. The domestics of the inn talked 
with wonder of the splendid dressing case, with its gold and sil- 
ver furniture, that was spread out on the toilet table, and the 
bag of gold that chinked as it w^as taken out of the trunk. The 
strange Milor's ^ wealth, and the treasures he carried about him, 
were the talk, that evening, over all Terracina. 

The Enghshman took some time to make his ablutions and ar- 
range his dress for table, and, after considerable labor and effort 
in putting himself at his ease, made his appearance, with stiff 
white cravat, his clothes free from the least speck of dust, and 
adjusted with precision. He made a civil bow on entering, in the 
unprofessing English way, which the fair Venetian, accustomed 
to the complimentary salutations of the Continent, considered 
extremely cold. 

The supper, as it was termed by the Italian, or dinner, as the 
Englishman called it, was now served. Heaven and earth, and 
the waters under the earth, had been moved to furnish it, for 
there were birds of the air, and beasts of the field, and fish of 
the sea. The EngHshman's servant, too, had turned the kitchen 
topsy-turvy in his zeal to cook his master a beefsteak, and made 
his appearance, loaded with catchup, and soy, and Cayenne pep- 
per, and Harvey sauce, and a bottle of port wine from that ware- 
house, the carriage, in which his master seemed desirous of carry- 
ing England about the world with him. Indeed, the repast was 
one of those Italian farragoes which require a little qualifying. 
The tureen of soup was a black sea, with livers, and limbs, and 
fragments of all kinds of birds and beasts floating like wrecks 
about it. A meager-winged animal, which my host called a deli- 
cate chicken, had evidently died of a consumption. The maca- 

1 For "milord," a Continental rendering of the English " my lord," a 
title bestowed on any person of dignity. 



256 WASHINGTON IRVING, 

roni was smoked. The beefsteak was tough buffalo's flesh. 
There was what appeared to be a dish of stewed eels, of which 
the Englishman ate with great relish, but had nearly refunded 
them when told that they were vipers, caught among the rocks 
of Terracina, and esteemed a great delicacy. 

Nothing, however, conquers a traveler's spleen sooner than eat- 
ing, whatever may be the cookery ; and nothing brings him into 
good humor with his company sooner than eating together. The 
Englishman, therefore, had not half finished his repast and his 
bottle before he began to think the Venetian a very tolerable 
fellow for a foreigner, and his wife almost handsome enough to 
be an Englishwoman. 

In the course of the repast, the usual topics of travelers were 
discussed, and among others, the reports of robbers, which har- 
assed the mind of the fair Venetian. The landlord and waiter 
dipped into the conversation with that familiarity permitted on the 
Continent, and served up so many bloody tales as they served up 
the dishes that they almost frightened away the poor lady's appe- 
tite. The Englishman, who had a national antipathy to everything 
technically called " humbug," listened to them all with a certain 
screw of the mouth, expressive of incredulity. There was the well- 
known story of the school of Terracina captured by the robbers, 
and one of the scholars cruelly massacred, in order to bring the 
parents to terms for the ransom of the rest ; and another, of 
a gentleman of Rome, who received his son's ear in a letter, with 
information that his son would be remitted to him in this way, 
by installments, until he paid the required ransom. 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she heard these tales, and 
the landlord, like a true narrator of the terrible, doubled the dose 
when he saw how it operated. He was just proceeding to relate 
the misfortunes of a great English lord and his family, when the 
Enghshman, tired of his volubihty, interrupted him, and pro- 
nounced these accounts to be mere travelers' tales, or the exag- 
gerations of ignorant peasants and designing innkeepers. The 
landlord was indignant at the doubt leveled at his stories and 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 257 

the innuendo leveled at his cloth ; 1 he cited, in corroboration, half 
a dozen tales still more terrible. 

" I don't believe a word of them," said the Englishman. 

" But the robbers have been tried and executed ! " 

"All a farce !" 

" But their heads are stuck up along the road ! " 

" Old skulls accumulated during a century." 

The landlord muttered to himself as he went out at the door, 
*' San Gennaro / quanta so?io singolari qiiestl Ingle si ,^ " ^ 

A fresh hubbub outside of the inn announced the arrival of 
more travelers, and, from the variety of voices, or rather of 
clamors, the clattering of hoofs, the ratthng of wheels, and the 
general uproar both within and without, the arrival seemed to 
be numerous. 

It was, in fact, the procaccio and its convoy ; a kind of cara- 
van which sets out on certain days for the transportation of mer- 
chandise, with an escort of soldiery to protect it from the rob- 
bers. Travelers avail themselves of its protection, and a long 
file of carriages generally accompanies it. 

A considerable time elapsed before either landlord or waiter 
returned, being hurried hither and thither by that tempest of noise 
and bustle which takes place in an Italian inn on the arrival of 
any considerable accession of custom. When mine host reap- 
peared, there was a smile of triumph on his countenance. 

" Perhaps," said he, as he cleared the table, '' perhaps the sig- 
nor has not heard of what has happened ? " 

" What ? " said the Englishman, dryly. 

"Why, the procaccio has brought accounts of fresh exploits 
of the robbers." 

" Pish ! " 

"There's more news of the English milor and his family," 
said the host, exultingly. 

" An English lord ? What English lord ? " 

" Milor Popkin." 

1 Profession. 2 San Gennaro! how strange these Englishmen are. 

17 



258 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

" Lord Popkins ? I never heard of such a title ! " 

" O, sicuro ; ^ a great nobleman, who passed through here 
lately with miladi and her daughters. A magnifico,^ — one of the 
grand counselors of London, — an almanno !" 

" Almanno — almanno ? — tut, he means alderman." 

" Sicuro ! Aldermanno Popkin, and the Principessa ^ Popkin, 
and the Signorine* Popkin ! " said mine host, triumphantly. 

He now put himself into an attitude, and would have launched 
into a full detail had he not been thwarted by the Englishman, 
who seemed determined neither to credit nor indulge him in his 
stories, but dryly motioned for him to clear away the table. 

An Italian tongue, however, is not easily checked ; that of mine 
host continued to wag with increasing volubihty, as he conveyed 
the relics of the repast out of the room, and the last that could 
be distinguished of his voice, as it died away along the corridor, 
was the iteration of the favorite word, "Popkin — Popkin — Pop- 
kin — pop — pop — pop." 

The arrival of the procaccio had, indeed, filled the house with 
stories, as it had with guests. The Englishman and his compan- 
ions walked after supper up and down the large hall, or common 
room of the inn, which ran through the center of the building. 
It was spacious and somewhat dirty, wnth tables placed in vari- 
ous parts, at which groups of travelers were seated, while others 
strolled about, waiting, in famished impatience, for their even- 
ing's meal. 

It was a heterogeneous assemblage of people of all ranks and 
countries, who had arrived in all kinds of vehicles. Though dis- 
tinct knots of travelers, yet the travehng together under one 
common escort had jumbled them into a certain degree of com- 
panionship on the road ; besides, on the Continent travelers are 
always familiar, and nothing is more motley than the groups 
which gather casually together in sociable conversation in the 
public rooms of inns. 

The formidable number and formidable guard of the procaccio 

1 Sure. - Grandee. 3 Princess. ■* Misses. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER, 259 

had prevented any molestation from banditti ; but every party 
of travelers had its tale of wonder, and one carriage vied with an- 
other in its budget of assertions and surmises. Fierce, whiskered 
faces had been seen peering over the rocks ; carbines and stilettos 
gleaming from among the bushes ; suspicious-looking fellows, 
with flapped hats, and scowling eyes, had occasionally recon- 
noitered a straggling carriage, but had disappeared on seeing the 
guard. 

The fair Venetian listened to all these stories with that avidity 
with which we always pamper any feeling of alarm ; even the 
Englishman began to feel interested in the common topic, desir- 
ous of getting more correct information than mere flying reports. 
Conquering, therefore, that shyness which is prone to keep an 
Englishman solitary in crowds, he approached one of the talking 
groups, the oracle of which was a tall, thin Italian, with long, 
aquiline nose, a high forehead, and lively, prominent eye, beam- 
ing from under a green velvet traveling cap, with gold tassel. 
He was of Rome, a surgeon by profession, a poet by choice, 
and something of an improvisatore.^ 

In the present instance, however, he was talking in plain prose, 
but holding forth with the fluency of one who talks well, and likes 
to exert his talent. A question or two from the Enghshman drew 
copious replies, for an Englishman sociable among strangers is 
regarded as a phenomenon on the Continent, and always treated 
with attention for the rarity's sake. The improvisatore gave much 
the same account of the banditti that I have already furnished. 

" But why does not the police exert itself, and root them out ? " 
demanded the Englishman. 

" Because the police is too weak, and the banditti are too 
strong," replied the other. " To root them out would be a more 
difficult task than you imagine. They are connected, and almost 
identified, with the mountain peasantry and the people of the vil- 
lages. The numerous bands have an understanding with each 
other, and with the country round. A gendarme cannot stir 

1 One who composes or recites offhand. 



26o WASHINGTON IRVING, 

without their being aware of it. They have their scouts every- 
where, who lurk about towns, villages, and inns, mingle in every 
crowd, and pervade every place of resort. I should not be sur- 
prised if some one should be supervising us at this moment." 

The fair Venetian looked round fearfully, and turned pale. 

Here the improvisatore was interrupted by a lively NeapoHtan 
lawyer. 

" By the way," said he, " I recollect a Kttle adventure of a 
learned doctor, a friend of mine, which happened in this very 
neighborhood, not far from the ruins of Theodoric's Castle, ^ 
which are on the top of those great rocky heights above the 
town." 

A wish was, of course, expressed to hear the adventure of the 
doctor, by all excepting the improvisatore, who, being fond of 
talking and of hearing himself talk, and accustomed, moreover, 
to harangue without interruption, looked rather annoyed at being 
checked when in full career. The Neapolitan, however, took no 
notice of his chagrin, but related the following anecdote. 



ADVENTURE OF THE LITTLE ANTIQUARY. 

MY friend, the doctor, was a thorough antiquary, — a little rusty, 
musty old fellow, always groping among ruins. He relished 
a building as you Englishmen relish a cheese, — the more moldy 
and crumbhng it was, the more it suited his taste. A shell of 
an old nameless temple, or the cracked walls of a broken-down 
amphitheater, would throw him into raptures, and he took more 
delight in these crusts and cheeseparings of antiquity than in the 
best-conditioned modern palaces. 

He was a curious collector of coins also, and had just gained 
an accession of wealth that almost turned his brain. He had 

1 See Note i, p. ^49. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 2f)T 

picked up, for instance, several Roman Consulars,^ half a Roman 
As,i two Funics,^ which had doubtless belonged to the soldiers 
of Hannibal,'^ having been found on the very spot where they 
had encamped among the Apennines. He had, moreover, one 
Samnite,*^ struck after the Social War,-* and a Phihstis,^ a queen 
that never existed ; but above all, he valued himself upon a coin, 
indescribable to any but the initiated in these matters, bearing a 
cross on one side, and a pegasus^ on the other, and which, by 
some antiquarian logic, the little man adduced as an historical 
document illustrating the progress of Christianity. 

All these precious coins he carried about him in a leathern 
piu^se, buried deep in a pocket of his little black breeches. 

The last maggot " he had taken into his brain was to hunt after 
the ancient cities of the Pelasgi,^ which are said to exist to this 
day among the mountains of the Abruzzi,^ but about which a 
singular degree of obscurity prevails. He had made many dis- 

1 Consulars, Asses, and Funics were early Roman coins. 

2 Hannibal (248—183 B.C.) was the Carthaginian leader in two of the 
three great wars between Rome and Carthage, known as the Punic Wars 
(B.C. 263-241 ; 218-202 ; 150-146), which ended in the fall of Carthage. The 
coins struck at this time were known as " Funics." 

3 The coins known as Samnites show a bull overcoming a Avolf, the bull 
symbolizing Italy, and the wolf, Rome. 

* The Social War was a war of the Italian states against Rome (91 B.C.) 

for the purpose of obtaining the rights and privileges of Roman citizens. 

Although the states were defeated, the privileges they fought for were granted 

-them. During the rebellion many of the states struck off coins showing their 

claims, victories, etc. 

» During the time of Hiero II., King of Sicily (270-216 B.C.), some 
remarkably fine coins were struck, bearing a portrait of a woman, and the 
name" Philistis." It is generally thought that Fhilistis was a princess of 
Hiero's family, either his own wife or the wife of his son Gelo. 

6 See Note 5, p. 149. '7 Odd fancy or whim. 

s The Pelasgi, or Felasgians, were an ancient race widely spread over 
Greece and the coasts and islands of the ^gean and Mediterranean Seas. 
They are supposed to have emigrated to Italy, but all accounts of the Pelasgi 
are to a great extent mythical. 

^ A division of Italy, on the Adriatic, traversed by spurs of the Apennines. 



262 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

coveries concerning them, and had recorded a great many vaki- 
able notes and memorandums on the subject, in a voluminous 
book which he always carried about with him, either for the pur- 
pose of frequent reference, or through fear lest the precious docu- 
ment should fall into the hands of brother antiquaries. He had, 
therefore, a large pocket in the skirt of his coat, where he bore 
about this inestimable tome, banging against his rear as he walked. 

Thus heavily laden with the spoils of antiquity, the good little 
man, during a sojourn at Terracina, mounted one day the rocky 
cliffs which overhang the town, to visit the castle of Theodoric. 
He was groping about the ruins, towards the hour of sunset, 
buried in his reflections, his wits no doubt woolgathering ^ among 
the Goths ^ and Romans, when he heard footsteps behind him. 

He turned, and beheld five or six young fellows, of rough, 
saucy demeanor, clad in a singular manner, half peasant, half 
huntsman, with carbines in their hands. Their whole appear- 
ance and carriage left him no doubt into what company he had 
fallen. 

The doctor was a feeble httle man, poor in look, and poorer 
in purse. He had but little gold or silver to be robbed of, but 
then he had his curious ancient coin in his breeches pocket. He 
had, moreover, certain other valuables, such as an old silver 
watch, thick as a turnip, with figures on it large enough for a 
clock, and a set of seals at the end of a steel chain, dangling 
half way down to his knees. All these were of precious esteem, 
being family relics. He had also a seal ring, a veritable antique 
intaglio, that covered half his knuckles. It was a Venus,^ which 

1 Indulging in idle fancies or fruitless pursuits. The allusion is to the 
practice of gathering tufts of wool from bushes, which necessitates much 
wandering to little purpose. 

2 A powerful German people who played an important part in the over- 
throw of the Roman empire. In 272 they separated into two great divisions, 
the Visigoths and the Ostragoths. It was the latter who, under Theodoric 
the Great, conquered Italy in 493. 

3 Venus, or Aphrodite, was the goddess of beauty and love among the 
Romans and Greeks. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 263 

the old man almost worshiped with the zeal of a voluptuary. 
But what he most valued was his inestimable collection of hints 
relative to the Pelasgian cities, which he would gladly have given 
all the money in his pocket to have had safe at the bottom of 
his trunk in Terracina. 

However, he plucked up a stout heart, at least as stout a heart 
as he could, seeing that he was but a puny little man at the best 
of times. So he wished the hunters a ^' buon giorno.'"^ They 
returned his salutation, giving the old gentleman a sociable slap 
on the back that made his heart leap into his throat. 

They fell into conversation, and walked for some time together 
among the heights, the doctor wishing them all the while at the 
bottom of the crater of Vesuvius. At length they came to a 
small osteria ^ on the mountain, where they proposed to enter and 
have a cup of wine together. The doctor consented, though he 
would as soon have been invited to drink hemlock. 

One of the gang remained sentinel at the door ; the others 
swaggered into the house, stood their guns in the corner of the 
room, and each drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid it 
upon the table. They now drew benches round the board, called 
lustily for wine, and hailing the doctor as though he had been a 
boon companion of long standing, insisted upon his sitting down 
and making merry. 

The worthy man complied with forced grimace, but with fear 
and trembling, sitting uneasily on the edge of his chair, eying 
ruefully the black-muzzled pistols and cold, naked stilettos, and 
supping down heartburn with every drop of liquor. His new com- 
rades, however, pushed the bottle bravely, and plied him vigor- 
ously. They sang, they laughed, told excellent stories of their 
robberies and combats, mingled with many ruffian jokes, and the 
little doctor was fain to laugh at all their cutthroat pleasantries, 
though his heart was dying away at the very bottom of his bosom. 

By their OAvn account, they were young men from the villages, 
who had recently taken up this line of life out of the wild caprice 

1 Good day. 2 Jnn. 



264 WASHINGTOX IRVING. 

of youth. They talked of their murderous exploits as a sports- 
man talks of his amusements ; to shoot down a traveler seemed 
of little more consequence to them than to shoot a hare. They 
spoke with rapture of the glorious roving life they led, — free as 
birds, here to-day, gone to-morrow, ranging the forests, cHmbing 
the rocks, scouring the valleys, the world their own wherever they 
could lay hold of it, full purses, merry companions, pretty women. 
The little antiquary got fuddled with their talk and their wine, 
for they did not spare bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his 
seal ring, and his family watch ; even the treatise on the Pelasgian 
cities, which was warming under him, for a time faded from his 
memory in the glowing picture that they drew. He declares 
that he no longer wonders at the prevalence of this robber mania 
among the mountains, for he felt at the time that, had he been 
a young man and a strong man, and had there been no danger 
of the galleys in the background, he should have been half 
tempted himself to turn bandit. 

At length the hour of separating arrived. The doctor was 
suddenly called to himself and his fears by seeing the robbers 
resume their weapons. He now quaked for his valuables, and, 
above all, for his antiquarian treatise. He endeavored, how- 
ever, to look cool and unconcerned, and drew from out his deep 
pocket a long, lank, leathern purse, far gone into consumption, 
at the bottom of which a few coins chinked with the trembling 
of his hand. 

The chief of the party observed his movement, and laying his 
hand upon the antiquary's sh'oulder, " Harkee ! Signer Dottore ! " ^ 
said he, " we have drunk together as friends and comrades ; let 
us part as such. We understand you. We know who and what 
you are, for we know who everybody is that sleeps at Terracina, 
or that puts foot upon the road. You are a rich man, but you 
carry all your wealth in your head. We cannot get at it, and we 
should not know what to do with it if we could. I see you are 
uneasy about your ring ; but don't worry yourself, it is not worth 

1 Listen, Sir Doctor. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 265 

taking. You think it an antique, but it's a counterfeit — a mere 
sham." 

Here the ire of the antiquary rose ; the doctor forgot himself 
in his zeal for the character of his ring. Heaven and earth ! 
his Venus a sham? Had they pronounced the wife of his bosom 
"no better than she should be," he could not have been more 
indignant. He fired up in vindication of his intaglio. 

" Nay, nay," continued the robber, "we have no time to dis- 
pute about it ; value it as you please. Come, you're a brave lit- 
tle old signor. One more cup of wine, and we'll pay the reckon- 
ing. No compliments ; you shall not pay a grain ; you are our 
guest. I insist upon it. So now make the best of your way back 
to Terracina ; it's growing late. Buon viaggio ! ^ And harkee, 
take care how you wander among fhese mountains; you may 
not always fall into such good company." 

They shouldered their guns, sprang gayly up the rocks, and 
the little doctor hobbled back to Terracina, rejoicing that the 
robbers had left his watch, his coins, and his treatise unmolested, 
but still indignant that they should have pronounced his Venus 
an impostor. 

The improvisatore had shown many symptoms of impatience 
during this recital. He saw his theme in danger of being taken 
out of his hands, which to an able talker is always a grievance, 
but to an improvisatore is an absolute calamity ; and then for it 
to be taken away by a Neapolitan was still more vexatious, the 
inhabitants of the different Italian states ^ having an implacable 
jealousy of each other in all things, great and small. He took 
advantage of the first pause of the Neapolitan to catch hold 
again of the thread of the conversation. 

1 A pleasant journey. 

2 Until within recent times, Italy was composed of a number of states, 
either independent, or tributary to foreign powers, and had no organized exist- 
ence as a nation. It was not until 1 861 that, through the efforts of Cavour 
and other liberal-minded Italians, the unification of Italy was effected and the 
Italian kingdom organized. 



2 66 ll'ASNIXGTOX JRJ7XG. 

"As I observed before," said he, "the prowhngs of the ban- 
ditti are so extensive ; they are so much in league with one an- 
other, and so interwoven with various ranks of society" — 

" For that matter," said the Xeapohtan, " I have heard that 
your government has had some understanding with those gentry, 
or, at least, has winked at their misdeeds." 

" My government ? " said the Roman, impatiently. 

" Ay, they say that Cardinal Gonsalvi " ^ — 

" Hush ! " said the Roman, holding up his finger, and rolling 
his large eyes about the room. 

" Xay, I only repeat what I heard commonly rumored in Rome," 
replied the Xeapohtan sturdily. " It was openly said that the 
Cardinal had been up to the mountains, and had an inter\'iew 
with some of the chiefs. And I have been told, moreover, that, 
while honest people have been kicking their heels in the Car- 
dinal's antechamber, waiting by the hour for admittance, one of 
those stiletto-looking fellows has elbowed his wav through the 
crowd, and entered without ceremony into the Cardinal's pres- 
ence." 

" I know," observed the improvisatore, "that there have been 
such reports, and it is not impossible that government may have 
made use of these men at particular periods, such as at the time 
of your late abortive revolution, when your Carbonari - were so 

1 Cardinal Ercole Consalvi or Gonsalvi (1757-1824), an eminent Roman 
statesman. His policy was liberal and humane. Capital punishment and 
torture for heresy were abolished by him, and he enacted new codes of laws. 
During the pope's absence he was \-irtual sovereign of Rome. 

2 The Italian sovereigns, on returning to their respective states after Na- 
poleon Bonaparte's dowmfall, acted very tyrannically and tried to abandon all 
reforms. This course of action gave rise to the formation of a secret society, 
which originated among the charcoal burners of the mountains, and was there- 
fore known as the " Carbonari" (charcoal burners), but which soon spread 
throughout the peninsula. The object of the society was to change the 
government to a republic. In July, 1820, the army at Naples broke out in 
open mutiny, but the Austrian troops entered Naples, and crushed the revolu- 
tion in 1821. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 267 

busy with their machinations all over the country. The informa- 
tion which such men could collect, who were familiar, not merely 
with the recesses and secret places of the mountains, but also 
with the dark and dangerous recesses of society ; who knew every 
suspicious character, and all his movements and all his lurkings ; 
in a word, who knew all that was plotting in a world of mischief, — 
the utility of such men as instruments in the hands of govern- 
ment was too obvious to be overlooked, and Cardinal Gonsalvi, 
as a pohtic statesman, may, perhaps, have made use of them. 
Besides, he knew that, with all their atrocities, the robbers were 
always respectful towards the Church, and devout in their reli- 
gion." 

" Religion ! religion ! " echoed the Englishman, 
"Yes, religion," repeated the Roman. " They have each their 
patron saint. They will cross themselves and say their prayers, 
whenever, in their mountain haunts, they hear the matin or the 
Ave Maria bells sounding from the valleys, and will often descend 
from their retreats, and run imminent risks, to visit some favorite 
shrine. I recollect an instance in point. 

" I was one evening in the village of Frascati,i which stands 
on the beautiful brow of a hill rising from the Campagna^ just 
below the Abruzzi Mountains. The people, as is usual in fine 
evenings in our Italian towns and villages, were recreating them- 
selves in the open air, and chatting in groups in the public square. 
While I was conversing with a knot of friends, I noticed a tall 
fellow, wrapped in a great mantle, passing across the square, but 
skulking along in the dusk, as if anxious to avoid observation. 

1 A town of Italy twelve miles southeast of Rome. On the brow of a hill 
are the remains of the ancient Tusculum, where were favorite residences of 
Cicero, Lucullus, and other famous Romans (see Note 2, p. 292). 

2 An old province of Italy nearly corresponding in limits to ancient Latium, 
extending along the western coast from Civita Vecchia to the Pontine Marshes, 
and inland to the Albian and Sabine Hills, Rome being near its center. Al- 
though at one time one of the richest countries of the world, it is now nearly 
destitute of inhabitants. 



2 68 IVASIIIXGTOX IJiVIXG. 

The people drew back as he passed. It was whispered to me 
that he was a notorious bandit." 

" But why was he not immediately seized ? " said the English- 
man. 

"Because it was nobody's business; because nobody wished 
to incur the vengeance of his comrades ; because there were not 
sufficient gendarmes near to insure security against the number 
of desperadoes he might have at hand ; because the gendarmes 
might not have received particular instructions with respect to 
him, 'and might not feel disposed to engage in a hazardous con- 
flict without compulsion. In short, I might give you a thousand 
reasons rising out of the state of our government and manners, 
not one of which, after all, might appear satisfactory." 

The Enghshman shrugged his shoulders with an air of con- 
tempt. 

" I have been told," added the Roman, rather quickly, " that 
even in your metropolis of London, notorious thieves, well-known 
to the police as such, walk the streets at noonday in search of 
their prey, and are not molested unless caught in the ver\' act of 
robbery." 

The Enghshman gave another shrug, but with a different ex- 
pression. 

" Well, sir, I fixed my eye on this daring W'Olf, thus prowling 
through the fold, and saw him enter a church. I was cmious 
to witness his devotion. You know our spacious, magnificent 
churches. The one in which he entered was vast, and shrouded in 
the dusk of evening. At the extremity of the long aisles a couple 
of tapers feebly glimmered on the grand altar. In one of the side 
chapels was a votive candle placed before the image of a saint. 
Before this image the robber had prostrated himself. His mantle, 
partly falling off from his shoulders as he knelt, revealed a form 
of Herculean strength; a stiletto and pistol ghttered in his belt; 
and the light, falling on his countenance, showed features not un- 
handsome, but strongly and fiercely characterized. As he prayed 
he became vehemently agitated ; his lips quivered, sighs and 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 269 

murmurs, almost groans, burst from him ; he beat his breast with 
violence, then clasped his hands and wrung them convulsively, 
as he extended them towards the image. Never had I seen such 
a terrific picture of remorse. I felt fearful of being discovered 
watching him, and withdrew. Shortly afterwards I saw him issue 
from the church, wrapped in his mantle. He recrossed the square 
and no doubt returned to the mountains with a disburdened 
conscience, ready to incur a fresh arrear of crime." 

Here the Neapolitan was about to get hold of the conversa- 
tion, and had just preluded with the ominous remark, " That 
puts me in mind of a circumstance," when the improvisatore, too 
adroit to suffer himself to be again superseded, went on, pretend- 
ing not to hear the interruption. 

" Among the many circumstances connected with the banditti 
which ser\^e to render the traveler uneasy and insecure, is the un- 
derstanding which they sometimes have with innkeepers. Many 
an isolated inn among the lonely parts of the Roman territories, 
and especially about the mountains, is of a dangerous and per- 
fidious character. They are places where the banditti gather in- 
formation, and where the unwary traveler, remote from hearing 
or assistance, is betrayed to the midnight dagger. The robberies 
committed at such inns are often accompanied by the most atro- 
cious murders, for it is only by the complete extermination of their 
victims that the assassins can escape detection. I recollect an 
adventure," added he, " which occurred at one of these solitary 
mountain inns, which, as you all seem in a mood for robber anec- 
dotes, may not be uninteresting." 

Having secured the attention, and awakened the curiosity, of 
the bystanders, he paused for a moment, rolled up his large eyes 
as improvisatori are apt to do when they would recollect an im- 
promptu, and then related with great dramatic effect the follow- 
ing story, which had, doubtless, been well prepared and digested 
beforehand. 



2 -JO IVASHINGTOX IRVIXG. 

THE BELATED TRAVELERS. 

IT was late one evening that a carriage, drawn by mules, slowly 
toiled its way up one of the passes of the Apennines. It 
was through one of the wildest defiles, where a hamlet occiured 
only at distant intervals, perched on the summit of some rocky 
height, or the white towers of a convent peeped out from among 
the thick mountain foliage. The carriage was of ancient and pon- 
derous construction. Its faded embeUishments spoke of former 
splendor, but its crazy springs and axletrees creaked out the tale 
of present decline. Within was seated a tall, thin old gentleman, 
in a kind of military traveling dress, and a foraging cap trimmed 
with fur, though the gray locks which stole from under it hinted 
that his fighting days were over. Beside him was a pale, beauti- 
ful girl of eighteen, dressed in something of a northern or Polish 
costume. One servant was seated in front, — a rusty, crusty-look- 
ing feUow, with a scar across his face, an orange-tawny schtiurbart^ 
or pair of mustaches, bristling from under his nose, and altogether 
the air of an old soldier. 

It was, in fact, the equipage of a Polish nobleman ; a WTeck 
of one of those princely families once of almost oriental magnifi- 
cence, but broken down and impoverished by the disasters of 
Poland. The count, like many other generous spirits, had been 
found guilty of the crime of patriotism, and was, in a manner, 
an exile from his country. He had resided for some time in the 
first cities of Italy, for the education of his daughter, in whom 
all his cares and pleasures were now centered. He had taken her 
into society, where her beauty and her accomplishments gained 
her many admirers, and had she not been the daughter of a poor, 
broken-down, Polish nobleman, it is more than probable many 
would have contended for her hand. Suddenly, however, her 
health became delicate and drooping, her gayety fled with the 
roses of her cheek, and she sank into silence and debility. The 
old count saw the change with the solicitude of a parent. " We 



TALES OF A TRAVELER, 271 

must try a change of air and scene," said he ; and in a few days 
the old family carriage was rumbling among the Apennines. 

Their only attendant was the veteran Caspar, who had been 
born in the family, and grown rusty in its service. He had fol- 
lowed his master in all his fortunes, had fought by his side, had 
stood over him when fallen in battle, and had received, in his 
defense, the saber cut which added such grimness to his coun- 
tenance. He was now his valet, his steward, his butler, his fac- 
totum. The only being that rivaled his master in his affections 
was his youthful mistress. She had grown up under his eye ; he 
had led her by the hand when she was a child, and he now 
looked upon her with the fondness of a parent. Nay, he even 
took the freedom of a parent in giving his blunt opinion on all 
matters which he thought were for her good, and felt a parent's 
vanity at seeing her gazed at and admired. 

The evening was thickening ; ^ they had been for some time 
passing through narrow gorges of the mountains, along the edges 
of a tumbling stream. The scenery was lonely and savage. The 
rocks often beetled over the road, with flocks of white goats 
browsing on their brinks, and gazing down upon the travelers. 
They had between two or three leagues yet to go before they 
could reach any village ; yet the muleteer, Pietro,^ a tippling old 
fellow, who had refreshed himself at the last halting place with 
a more than ordinary quantity of wine, sat singing and talking 
alternately to his mules, and suffering them to lag on at a snail's 
pace, in spite of the frequent entreaties of the count and male- 
dictions of Caspar. 

The clouds began to roll in heavy masses along the moun- 
tains, shrouding their summits from view. The air was damp and 
chilly. The count's solicitude on his daughter's account over- 
came his usual patience. He leaned from the carriage, and called 
to old Pietro in an angry tone. 

" Forward ! " said he. '' It will be midnight before we arrive 
at our inn." 

1 Becoming darker. 2 Peter. 



272 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

" Yonder it is, signer," said the muleteer. 

" Where ? " demanded the count. 

" Yonder," said Pietro, pointing to a desolate pile about a 
quarter of a league distant. 

" That the place ? Why, it looks more like a ruin than an inn. 
I thought we were to put up for the night at a comfortable 
village." 

Here Pietro uttered a string of piteous exclamations and ejacu- 
lations, such as are ever at the tip of the tongue of a delinquent 
muleteer. Such roads, and such mountains ! And then his poor 
animals were wayworn and leg weary ; they would fall lame ; 
they would never be able to reach the village. And then what 
could his Excellenza wish for better than the inn, a perfect cas- 
tello ! ^ — a palazzo ! ^ and such people ! — and such a larder ! — and 
such beds ! His Excellenza might fare as sumptuously and sleep 
as soundly there as a prince ! " 

The count was easily persuaded, for he was anxious to get his 
daughter out of the night air ; so in a little while the old carriage 
rattled and jingled into the great gateway of the inn. 

The building did certainly in some measure answer to the mule- 
teer's description. It was large enough for either castle or pal- 
ace, built in a strong, but simple and almost rude, style, with a 
great quantity of waste room. It had in fact been, in former 
times, a hunting seat of one of the Italian princes. There was 
space enough within its walls and outbuildings to have accom- 
modated a little army. A scanty household seemed now to peo- 
ple this dreary mansion. The faces that presented themselves 
on the arrival of the travelers were begrimed with dirt, and scowl- 
ing in their expression. They all knew old Pietro, however, and 
gave him a welcome as he entered, singing and talking, and al- 
most whooping, into the gateway. 

The hostess of the inn waited herself on the count and his 
daughter, to show them the apartments. They were conducted 
through a long, gloomy corridor, and then through a suite of cham- 

1 Castle. - Palace. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 2173 

bers opening into each other, with lofty ceihngs, and great beams 
extending across them. Everything, however, had a wretched, 
squahd look. The walls were damp and bare, excepting that 
here and there hung some great painting, large enough for a 
chapel, and blackened out of all distinction. 

They chose two bedrooms, one within another, the inner one 
for the daughter. The bedsteads were massive and misshapen ; 
but on examining the beds so vaunted by old Pietro, they found 
them stuffed with fibers of hemp knotted in great lumps. The 
count shrugged his shoulders, but there was no choice left. 

The chilliness of the apartments crept to their bones, and they 
were glad to return to a common chamber, or kind of hall, where 
was a fire burning in a huge cavern, miscalled a chimney. A 
quantity of green wood, just thrown on, puffed out volumes of 
smoke. The room corresponded to the rest of the mansion. 
The floor was paved and dirty; a great oaken table stood in 
the center, immovable from its size and weight. The only thing 
that contradicted this prevalent air of indigence was the dress 
of the hostess. She was a slattern, of course, yet her garments, 
though dirty and negligent, were of costly materials. She wore 
several rings of great value on her fingers, and jewels in her ears, 
and round her neck was a string of large pearls, to' which was 
attached a sparkling crucifix. She had the remains of beauty, 
yet there was something in the expression- of her countenance 
that inspired the young lady with singular aversion. She was 
officious and obsequious in her attentions, and both the count 
and his daughter felt relieved when she consigned them to the 
care of a dark, sullen-looking servant maid, and went off to super- 
intend the supper. 

Caspar was indignant at the muleteer for having, either through 
negligence or design, subjected his master and mistress to such 
quarters, and vowed by his mustaches to have revenge on the 
old varlet the moment they were safe out from among the moun- 
tains. He kept up a continual quarrel with the sulky servant 
maid, which only served to increase the sinister expression with 
18 



2 74 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

which she regarded the travelers from under her strong, dark 
eyebrows. 

As to the count, he was a good-humored, passive traveler. 
Perhaps real misfortunes had subdued his spirit, and rendered 
him tolerant of many of those petty evils which make prosperous 
men miserable. He drew a large, broken armchair to the fireside 
for his daughter, and another for himself, and seizing an enor- 
mous pair of tongs, endeavored to rearrange the wood so as to pro- 
duce a blaze. His efforts, however, were only repaid by thicker 
puffs of smoke, which almost overcame the good gentleman's 
patience. He would draw back, cast a look upon his delicate 
daughter, then upon the cheerless, squalid apartment, and, shrug- 
ging his shoulders, would give a fresh stir to the fire. 

Of all the miseries of a comfortless inn, however, there is none 
greater than sulky attendants. The good count for some time 
bore the smoke in silence, rather than address himself to the 
scowling servant maid. At length he was compelled to beg for 
drier firewood. The woman retired muttering. On reentering 
the room hastily, with an armful of fagots, her foot shpped ; she 
fell, and striking her head against the corner of a chair, cut her 
temple severely. 

The blow stunned her for a time, and the wound bled pro- 
fusely. When she recovered, she found the count's daughter 
administering to her wound, and binding it up with her own 
handkerchief. It was such an attention as any woman of ordi- 
nary feeling would have yielded ; but perhaps there was some- 
thing in the appearance of the lovely being Avho bent over her, 
or in the tones of her voice, that touched the heart of the woman, 
unused to be administered to by such hands. Certain it is, she 
was strongly affected. She caught the delicate hand of the Pol-_ 
onaise, and pressed it fervently to her lips. 

"May San Francesco ^ watch over you, signora ! " exclaimed 
she. 

1 St. Francis (i 182-1226), the founder of the celebrated order of mendicant 
friars known as Franciscans. He was canonized by Pope Gregory. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 275 

A new arrival broke the stillness of the inn. It was a Spanish 
princess with a numerous retinue. The courtyard was in an up- 
roar, the house in a bustle. The landlady hunied to attend such 
distinguished guests, and the poor count and his daughter, and 
their supper, were for a moment forgotten. The veteran Caspar 
muttered Polish maledictions enough to agonize an Italian ear ; 
but it was impossible to convince the hostess of the superiority of 
his old master and young mistress to the whole nobility of Spain. 

The noise of the arrival had attracted the daughter to the 
window just as the newcomers had ahghted. A young cavalier 
sprang out of the carriage and handed out the princess. The 
latter was a little shriveled old lady, with a face of parchment, 
and sparkling black eyes ; she was richly and gayly dressed, and 
walked with the assistance of a gold-headed cane as high as 
herself. The young man was tall and elegantly formed. The 
count's daughter shrank back at the sight of him, though the 
deep frame of the window screened her from observation. She 
gave a heavy sigh as she closed the casement. What that sigh 
meant I cannot say. Perhaps it was at the contrast between 
the splendid equipage of the princess, and the crazy, rheumatic- 
looking old vehicle of her father, which stood hard by. What- 
ever might be the reason, the young lady closed the casement 
with a sigh. She returned to her chair ; a slight shivering passed 
over her delicate frame ; she leaned her elbow on the arm of the 
chair, rested her pale cheek in the palm of her hand, and looked 
mournfully into the fire. 

The count thought she appeared paler than usual. 

" Does anything ail thee, my child ? " said he, 

" Nothing, dear father ! " replied she, laying her hand within 
his, and looking up smiling in his face ; but as she said so, a 
treacherous tear rose suddenly to her eye, and she turned away 
her head. 

*'The air of the window has chilled thee," said the count, 
fondly, '* but a good night's rest will make all well again." 

The supper table was at length laid, and the supper about to 



276 WASHING TOX IRVING. 

be served, when the hostess appeared, with her usual obsequious- 
ness, apologizing for showing in the newcomers ; but the night 
air was cold, and there w^as no other chamber in the inn with a 
fire in it. She had scarcely made the apology when the princess 
entered, leaning on the arm of the elegant young man. 

The count imm,ediately recognized her for a lady whom he 
had met frequently in society, both at Rome and Naples, and to 
whose conversaziones,! in fact, he had been constantly invited. 
The cavalier, too, was her nephew and heir, who had been great- 
ly admired in the gay circles both for his merits and prospects, 
and who had once been on a visit at the same time with his 
daughter and himself at the villa of a nobleman near Naples. 
Report had recently affianced him to a rich Spanish heiress. 

The meeting was agreeable to both the count and the prin- 
cess. The former w^as a gentleman of the old school, courteous 
in the extreme ; the princess had been a belle in her youth, and 
a woman of fashion all her life, and liked to be attended to. 

The young man approached the daughter and began some- 
thing of a complimentary observation, but his manner was em- 
barrassed, and his compliment ended in an indistinct murmur, 
while the daughter bowed without looking up, moved her lips 
without articulating a word, and sank again into her chair, where 
she sat gazing into the fire, with a thousand varying expressions 
passing over her countenance. 

This singular greeting of the yotmg people was not perceived 
by the old ones, who were occupied at the time with their own 
courteous salutations. It was arranged that they should sup to- 
gether, and as the princess traveled with her own cook, a veiy 
tolerable supper soon smoked upon the board. This, too, was 
assisted by choice wines and liquors and delicate confitures - 
brought from one of her carriages, for she was a veteran epicure, 
and curious in her rehsh for the good things of this world. She 
was, in fact, a vivacious little old lady, who mingled the woman 

1 Meetings for conversation, especially on literary subjects. 

2 Sweetmeats. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 277 

9 

of dissipation with the devotee. She was actually on her way to 
Loretto ^ to expiate a long life of gallantries and peccadillos by 
a rich offering at the holy shrine. She was, to be sure, rather a 
luxurious penitent, and a contrast to the primitive pilgrims, with 
scrip,- and staff, and cockleshell ; ^ but then it would be unrea- 
sonable to expect such self-denial from people of fashion, and 
there was not a doubt of the ample efficacy of the rich cruci- 
fixes, and golden vessels, and jeweled ornaments, which she was 
bearing to the treasury of the blessed Virgin. 

The princess and the count chatted much during supper about 
the scenes and society in which they had mingled, and did 
not notice that they had all the conversation to themselves; 
the young people were silent and constrained. The daughter 
ate nothing, in spite of the: politeness of the princess, who con- 
tinually pressed her to taste of one or other of the delicacies. 
The count shook his head. 

" She is not well this evening," said he ; ''I thought she would 
have fainted just now as she was looking out of the window at 
your carriage on its arrival." 

A crimson glow flushed to the very temples of the daughter.; 
but she leaned over her plate, and her tresses cast a shade over 
her countenance. 

When supper was over, they drew their chairs about the great 
fireplace. The flame and smoke had subsided, and a heap of 
glowing embers diffused a grateful warmth. A guitar, which "had 
been brought from the count's carriage, leaned against the wall,; 
the princess perceived it. " Can we not have a little music be- 
fore parting for the night ? " demanded she. 

1 A city of Italy in the compartimento (division) Marches, three miles 
from the Adriatic, It owes its origin to the house of the Virgin, the Santa 
Casa, which, according to tradition, was brought thither from Naza:reth by 
the angels. Over it a magnificent church has been built, and around it the 
town has grown up. The holy shrine attracts many visitors. 

2 A small bag or satchel. 

3 Pilgrims wore cockleshells on their hats as tokens, which, being blessed 
by the priest, were considered as charms against evil spirits. 



278 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

The count was proud of his daughter's accompHshment, and 
joined in the request. The young man made an effort of pohte- 
ness, and taking up the guitar, presented it, though in an embar- 
rassed manner, to the fair musician. She would have dechned it, 
but was too much confused to do so ; indeed, she was so nerv- 
ous and agitated that she dared not trust her voice to make an 
excuse. She touched the instrument with a faltering hand, and, 
after preluding a little, accompanied herself in several Polish airs. 
Her father's eyes glistened as he sat gazing on her. Even the 
crusty Caspar lingered in the room, partly through a fondness 
for the music of his native country, but chiefly through his pride 
in the musician. Indeed the melody of the voice and the deli- 
cacy of the touch were enough to have charmed more fastidious 
ears. The little princess nodded her head and tapped her hand 
to the music, though exceedingly out of time, while the nephew 
sat buried in profound contemplation of a black picture on the 
opposite wall. 

" And now," said the count, patting her cheek fondly, "one 
more favor. Let the princess hear that little Spanish air you 
were so fond of. You can't think," added he, " what a proficiency 
she has made in your language, though she has been a sad girl, 
and neglected it of late." 

The color flushed the pale cheek of the daughter. She hesi- 
tated, murmured something, but with sudden effort collected 
herself, struck the guitar boldly, and began. It was a Spanish 
romance, with something of love and melancholy in it. She gave 
the first stanza with great expression, for the tremulous, melting 
tones of her voice went to the heart ; but her articulation failed, 
her lips quivered, the song died away, and she burst into tears. 

The count folded her tenderly in his arms. " Thou art not 
well, my child," said he, "and I am tasking thee cruelly. Retire 
to thy chamber, and God bless thee ! " She bowed to the com- 
pany without raising her eyes, and ghded out of the room. 

The count shook his head as the door closed. " Something 
is the matter with that child," said he, " which I cannot divine. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 279 

She has lost all health and spirits latel)^ She was always a ten- 
der flower, and I had much pains to rear her. Excuse a father's 
foolishness," continued he, " but I have seen much trouble in 
my family, and this poor girl is all that is now left to me, and 
she used to be so lively " — 

" Maybe she's in love," said the little princess, with a shrewd 
nod of the head. 

*' Impossible ! " replied the good count, artlessly. '* She has 
never mentioned a word of such a thing to me." 

How little did the worthy gentleman dream of the thousand 
cares and griefs and mighty love concerns which agitate a virgin 
heart, and which a timid girl scarcely breathes unto herself! 

The nephew of the princess rose abruptly and walked about 
the room. 

When she found herself alone in her chamber, the feelings of 
the young lady, so long restrained, broke forth with violence. 
She opened the casement, that the cool air might blow upon her 
throbbing temples. Perhaps there was some little pride or pique 
mingled with her emotions, though her gentle nature did not seem 
calculated to harbor any such angry inmate. 

" He saw me weep," said she, with a sudden mantling of the 
cheek and a swelling of the throat, " but no matter, no matter ! " 

And so saying she threw her white arms across the window 
frame, buried her face in them, and abandoned herself to an 
agony of tears. She remained lost in a reverie until the sound 
of her father's and Caspar's voices in the adjoining room gave 
token that the party had retired for the night. The lights gleam- 
ing from window to window showed that they were conducting 
the princess to her apartments, which were in the opposite wing 
of the inn, and she distinctly saw the figure of the nephew as he 
passed one of the casements. 

She heaved a deep, heart-drawn sigh, and was about to close 
the lattice, when her attention was caught by words spoken be- 
low her window by two persons who had just turned an angle of 
the building. 



2 8o WASHINGTON IRVING. 

" But what will become of the poor young lady ? " said a voice, 
which she recognized for that of the servant woman. 

" Pooh ! she must take her chance," was the reply from old 
Pietro. 

"But cannot she be spared?" asked the other entreatingly ; 
" she's so kind-hearted ! " 

" Cospetto ! ^ wdiat has got into thee ? " repHed the other petu- 
lantly ; " would you mar the whole business for the sake of a silly 
girl ? " By this time they had got so far from the window that 
the Polonaise could hear nothing further. There was something 
in this fragment of conversation calculated to alarm. Did it re- 
late to herself, and if so, what was this impending danger from 
which it was entreated that she might be spared ? She was sev- 
eral times on the point of tapping at her father's door, to tell 
him what she had heard, but she might have been mistaken ; 
she might have heard indistinctly ; the conversation might have 
alluded to some one else ; at any rate, it was too indefinite to 
lead to any conclusion. While in this state of irresolution, she 
was startled by a low knock against the wainscot in a remote 
part of her gloomy chamber. On holding up the light, she be- 
held a small door there which she had not before remarked. It 
was bolted on the inside. She advanced, and demanded who 
knocked, and was answered in the voice of the female domestic. 
On opening the door, the woman stood before it, pale and agi- 
tated. She entered softly, laying her finger on her lips as in sign 
of caution and secrecy. 

" Fly ! " said she ; '* leave this house instantly, or you are lost." 

The young lady, trembling with alarm, demanded an explana- 
tion. 

" I have no time ;" replied the woman, " I dare not — I shall be 
missed if I linger here ; but fly instantly, or you are lost." 

" And leave my father ? " 

" Where is he ? " 

'* In the adjoining chamber." 

1 An Italian exclamation equivalent to the English " zounds!" 



TALES OF A TRAVELER, 281 

"Call him, then, but lose no time." 

The young lady knocked at her father's door. He was not 
yet retired to bed. She hurried into his room, and told him of 
the fearful warnings she had received. The count returned with 
her into the chamber, followed by Caspar. His questions soon 
drew the truth out of the embarrassed answers of the woman. 
The inn was beset by robbers. They were to be introduced after 
midnight, when the attendants of the princess and the rest of 
the travelers were sleeping and would be an easy prey. 

" But we can barricade the inn ; we can defend ourselves," said 
the count. 

" What ! when the people of the inn are in league with the 
banditti ? " 

" How, then, are we to escape ? Can we not order out the 
carriage and depart ? " 

" San Francesco ! for what ? To give the alarm that the plot 
is discovered ? That would make the robbers desperate, and 
bring them on you at once. They have had notice of the rich 
booty in the inn, and will not easily let it escape them." 

''' But how else are we to get off ? " 

" There is a horse behind the inn," said the woman, " from 
which the man has just dismounted who has been to summon 
the aid of part of the band at a distance," 

"One horse, and there are three of us ! " said the count. 

" And the Spanish princess," cried the daughter anxiously. 
" How can she be extricated from the danger ? " 

" Diavolo ! ^ what is she to me ? " said the Woman, in sudden 
passion, " It 'ys, you I come to save, and you will betray me, and 
we shall all be lost. Hark ! " continued she, " I am called — I 
shall be discovered — one word more. This door leads by a stair- 
case to the courtyard. Under the shed, in the rear of the yard, 
is a small door leading out to the fields. You will iind a horse 
there. Mount it ; make a circuit under the shadow of a ridge of 
rocks that you will see ; proceed cautiously and quietly until you 

1 The devil. 



^^2 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

cross a brook, and find yourself on the road just where there are 
three white crosses nailed against a tree ; then put your horse to 
his speed, and make the best of your way to the village. But, 
recollect, my life is in your hands. Say nothing of what you 
have heard or seen, whatever may happen at this inn." 

The woman hurried away. A short and agitated consultation 
took place between the count, his daughter, and the veteran 
Caspar. The young lady seemed to have lost all apprehension 
for herself in her solicitude for the safety of the princess. " To 
fly in selfish silence, and leave her to be massacred I " A shud- 
dering seized her at the ver}- thought. The gallantry of the count, 
too, revolted at the idea. He could not consent to turn his back 
upon a party of helpless travelers, and leave them in ignorance 
of the danger which hung over them. 

" But what is to become of the young lady," said Caspar, " if 
the alarm is given and the inn thrown in a tumult ? What may 
happen to her in a chance medley affray ? " 

Here the feelings of the father were aroused; he looked upon 
his lovely, helpless child, and trembled at the chance of her fall- 
ing into the hands of rufl&ans. 

The daughter, however, thought nothing of herself. " The 
princess ! the princess ! only let the princess know her danger! " 
She was willing to share it \\ith her. 

At length Caspar interfered, with the zeal of a faithful old 
servant. Xo time was to be lost ; the first thing was to get the 
young lady out of danger. " Mount the horse," said he to tlie 
coimt, " take her behind you, and fly ! Make for the \allage, 
rouse the inhabitants, and send assistance. Leave me here to give 
the alarm to the princess and her people. I am an old soldier, 
and I think we shall be able to stand siege until you send us aid." 

The daughter would again have insisted on staying with the 
princess. 

" For what ? " said old Caspar bluntly. " You could do no 
good ; you would be in the way ; we should have to take care 
of you instead of ourselves." 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 283 

There was no answering these objections ; the count seized 
his pistols, and taking his daughter under his arm, moved to- 
wards the staircase. The young lady paused, stepped back, and 
said, faltering with agitation, '' There is a young cavalier with the 
princess — her nephew ; perhaps he may " — 

" I understand you, mademoiselle," replied old Caspar, with 
a significant nod; "not a hair of his head shall suffer harm if I 
can help it." 

The young lady blushed deeper than ever ; she had not antici- 
pated being so thoroughly understood by the blunt old servant. 

" That is not what I mean," said she, hesitating. She would 
have added something, or made some explanation, but the mo- 
ments were precious and her father hurried her away. 

They found their way through the courtyard to the small pos- 
tern gate, where the horse stood fastened to a ring in the wall. 
The count mounted, took his daughter behind him, and they pro- 
ceeded as quietly as possible in the direction which the woman 
had pointed out. Many a fearful and anxious look did the daugh- 
. ter cast back upon the gloomy pile ; the lights which had feebly 
twinkled through the dusky casements were one by one disap- 
pearing, a sign that the inmates were gradually sinking to repose, 
and she trembled with impatience lest succor should not arrive 
until that repose had been fatally interrupted. 

They passed silently and safely along the skirts of the rocks, 
protected from observation by their overhanging shadows. They 
crossed the brook, and reached the place where three white 
crosses nailed against a tree told of some murder that had been 
committed there. Just as they had reached this ill-omened spot 
they beheld several men in the gloom coming down craggy 
defile among the rocks. 

" Who goes there ? " exclaimed a voice. The count put spurs 
to his horse, but one of the men sprang forward and seized the 
bridle. The horse started back and reared, and had not the 
young lady clung to her father she would have been thrown off. 
The count leaned forward, put a pistol to the very head of the 



284 WASHIXGTOX IRVING. 

ruffian, and. fired. The latter fell dead. The horse sprang for- 
ward. Two or three shots were fired, which whistled by the fugi- 
tives, but only served to augment their speed. They reached 
the \-illage in safety. 

The whole place was soon roused ; but such was the awe in 
which the banditti were held that the inhabitants shrunk at the 
idea of encountering them. A desperate band had for some time 
infested that pass through the mountains, and the inn had long 
been suspected of being one of those horrible places where the 
imsuspicious wayfarer is entrapped and silently disposed of. The 
rich ornaments worn by the slattern hostess of the inn had ex- 
cited heavy suspicions. Several instances had occmTed of sn>all 
parties of travelers disappearing mysteriously on that road, who, 
it was supposed at first, had been carried off by the robbers for 
the purpose of ransom, but who had never been heard of more. 
Such were the tales buzzed in the ears of the count by the vil- 
lagers, as he endeavored to rouse them to the rescue of the prin- 
cess and her train from their perilous situation. The daughter 
seconded the exertions of her father with all the eloquence of 
prayers, and tears, and beauty. Every moment that elapsed in- 
creased her anxiety until it became agonizing. Fortunately there 
was a body of gendarmes resting at the village. A number 
of the young villagers volunteered to accompany them, and the 
little army was put in motion. The count, having deposited his 
daughter in a place of safety, was too much of the old soldier 
not to hasten to the scene of danger. It would be difficult to 
paint the anxious agitation of the young lady while awaiting the 
result. 

The party arrived at the inn just in time. The robbers, find- 
ing their plans discovered and the travelers prepared for their 
reception, had become open and furious in their attack. The 
princess's party had barricaded themselves in one suite of apart- 
ments, and repulsed the robbers from the doors and windows. 
Caspar had shown the generalship of a veteran, and the nephew 
of the princess, the dashing valor of a young soldier. Their am- 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 285 

munition, however, was nearly exhausted, and they would have 
found it difficult to hold out much longer, when a discharge from 
the musketry of the gendarmes gave them the joyful tidings of 
succor. 

A fierce fight ensued, for part of the robbers were surprised in 
the inn, and had to stand siege in their turn, while their com- 
rades made desperate attempts to relieve them from under cover 
of the neighboring rocks and thickets. 

I cannot pretend to give a minute account of the fight, as I 
have heard it related in a variety of ways. Suffice it to say, the 
robbers were defeated, several of them killed and several taken 
prisoners, which last, together with the people of the inn, were 
either executed or sent to the galleys. 

I picked up these, particulars in the course of a journey which 
I made some time after the event had taken place. I passed 
by the very inn. It was then dismantled, excepting one w^ing, 
in which a body of gendarmes was stationed. They pointed 
out to me the shot holes in the window frames, the walls, and 
the panels of the doors. There were a number of withered limbs 
dangling from the branches of a neighboring tree, and blackening 
in the air, which I was told were the limbs of the robbers who had 
been slain and the culprits who had been executed. The w^hole 
place had a dismal, wild, forlorn look. 

" Were any of the princess's party killed ? " inquired the Eng- 
lishman. 

"As far as I can recollect, there were two or three." 

** Not the nephew, I trust ? " said the fair Venetian. 

" Oh, no ; he hastened with the count to reheve the anxiety 
of the daughter by the assurances of victory. The young lady 
had been sustained through the interval of suspense by the very 
intensity of her feelings. The moment she saw her father return- 
ing in safety, accompanied by the nephew of the princess, she 
uttered a cry of rapture, and fainted. Happily, however, she 
soon recovered, and, what is more, was married shortly after- 
wards to the young cavalier, and the whole party accompanied 



286 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

the old princess in her pilgrimage to Loretto, where her votive 
offerings may still be seen in the treasury of the Santa Casa." ^ 

It would be tedious to follow the devious course of the con- 
versation as it wound through a maze of stories of the kind, until 
it was taken up by two other travelers who had come under con- 
voy of the procaccio, Mr. Hobbs and Mr. Dobbs, a hnen draper 
and a greengrocer, just returning from a hasty tour in Greece 
and the Holy Land. They were full of the story of Alderman 
Popkins. They were astonished that the robbers should dare to 
molest a man of his importance on 'Change,- he being an eminent 
drysalter^ of Throgmorton Street, and a magistrate to boot. 

In fact, the story of the Popkins family was but too true. It 
was attested by too many present to be for a moment doubted, 
and from the contradictory and concordant testimony of half a 
score, all eager to relate it, and all talking at the same time, the 
Enghshman was enabled to gather the following particulars. 



ADVENTURE OF THE POPKINS FAMILY. 

IT was but a few days before that the carriage of Alderman 
Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terracina. Those who 
have seen an English family carriage on the Continent must have 
remarked the sensation it produces. It is an epitome of England, 
a little morsel of the old Island rolling about the world ; every- 
thing about it compact, snug, finished, and fitting ; the wheels 
turning on patent axles without ratthng ; the body hanging so 
well on its springs, yielding to every motion, yet protecting from 
every shock; the ruddy faces gaping from the windows, — some- 
times of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a voluminous dowager, 

1 See Note i, p. 277. 

2 An ahhreviation of " Exchange," a place for mercantile transactions. 

3 A dealer in salted or dried meats, pickles, etc. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 287 

and sometimes of a fine, fresh hoyden just from boarding school ; 
and then the dickeys, loaded with well-dressed servants, beef-fed 
and bluff, looking down from their heights with contempt on all 
the world around, profoundly ignorant of the country and the 
people, and devoutly certain that everything not English must 
be wrong. 

Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins as it made its 
appearance at Terracina. The courier who had preceded it to 
order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had given a magnifi- 
cent account of the richness and greatness of his master, blunder- 
ing, with an Italian's splendor of imagination, about the alder- 
man's titles and dignities. The host had added his usual share 
of exaggeration, so that by the time the alderman drove up to the 
door he was a milor — magnifico — principe — the Lord knows 
what ! 

The alderman was advised to take an escort to Fondi ^ and 
Itri,2 but he refused. It was as much as a man's life was worth, 
he said, to stop him on the king's highway; he would complain 
of it to the ambassador at Naples ; he would make a national 
affair of it. The Principessa Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, 
seemed perfectly secure in the protection of her husband, so om- 
nipotent a man in the city. The Signorines Popkins, two fine, 
bouncing girls, looked to their brother Tom, who had taken les- 
sons in boxing ; and as to the dandy himself, he swore no scara- 
mouch ^ of an Italian robber would dare to meddle with an Eng- 
lishman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and turned out 
the palms of his hands with a true Italian grimace, and the car- 
riage of Milor Popkins rolled on. 

They passed through several very suspicious places without 
any molestation. The Misses Popkins, who were very romantic, 
and had learned to draw in water colors, were enchanted with 
the savage scenery around ; it was so like what they had read in 

^ See Note 6, p. 247. 

2 A picturesque town of Italy, on a lofty hill surmounted by a ruined castle. 

3 A boastful person. 



288 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Mrs. Radcliffe's romances ; ^ they should hke of all things to make 
sketches. At length the carriage arrived at a place where the 
road wound up a long hill. ]\Irs. Popkins had sunk into a sleep ; 
the young ladies were lost in the " Loves of the Angels," ^ and the 
dandy was hectoring the postilions from the coach box. The 
alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his legs up the hill. It 
was a long, winding ascent, and obliged him every now and then to 
stop and blow, and wipe his forehead, with many a " pish ! " and 
"whew ! " being rather pursy and short of wind. As the carriage, 
however, was far behind him, and moved slowly under the weight 
of so many well-stuffed trunks and well-stuffed travelers, he had 
plenty of time to walk at leisure. 

On a jutting point of a rock that overhung the road, nearly 
at the summit of the hill, just where the road began again to 
descend, he saw a solitary man seated, who appeared to be tend- 
ing goats. Alderman Popkins was one of your shrewd travelers 
who always like to be picking up small information along the 
road ; so he thought he'd just scramble up to the honest man and 
have a little talk with him, bv war of learning the news and 
getting a lesson in Italian. As he drew near to the peasant, he 
did not half like his looks. He was partly reclining on the rocks, 
WTapped in the usual long mantle, which, with his slouched hat, 
only left a part of a swarthy visage, with a keen black eye, a 
beetle brow, and a fierce mustache, to be seen. He had whistled 
several times to his dog, which was roving about the side of the 
hill. As the alderman approached, he arose and greeted him. 
When standing erect, he seemed almost gigantic, at least in the 
eyes of Alderman Popkins, who, however, being a short man, 
might be deceived. 

The latter would gladly now have been back in the carriage, 
or even on 'Change in London, for he was by no means well 

1 Anne Radcliffe (1764-1823), English novelist, author of Udolpho, and 
Romance of the Forest. The terrible, somber, mysterious, and marvelous 
predominate in her works. 

- A poem by Thomas Moore (see Note 6, p. 131). 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 289 

pleased with his company. However, he determined to put the 
best face on matters, and was beginning a conversation about the 
state of the weather, the baddishness of the crops, and the price 
of goats in that part of the country, when he heard a violent 
screaming. He ran to the edge of the rock, and looking over, 
beheld his carriage surrounded by robbers. One held down the 
fat footman, another had the dandy by his starched cravat, with 
a pistol to his head ; one was rummaging a portmanteau, an- 
other rummaging the principessa's pockets ; while the two Misses 
Popkins were screaming from each window of the carriage, and 
their waiting maid squalling from the dickey. 

Alderman Popkins felt all the ire of the parent and the magis- 
trate roused within him. He grasped his cane, and was on the 
point of scrambling down the rocks either to assault the robbers 
or to read the riot act, when he was suddenly seized by the arm. 
It was by his friend the goatherd, whose cloak falling open, dis- 
covered 1 a belt stuck full of pistols and stilettos. In short, he 
found himself in the clutches of the captain of the band, who 
had stationed himself on the rock to look out for travelers and 
to give notice to his men. 

A sad ransacking took place. Trunks were turned inside out, 
and all the finery and frippery of the Popkins family scattered 
about the road. Such a chaos of Venice beads and Roman 
mosaics, and Paris bonnets of the young ladies, mingled with 
the alderman's nightcaps and lambs'-wool stockings, and the 
dandy's hairbrushes, stays, and starched cravats. 

The gentlemen were eased of their purses and their watches, 
the ladies of their jewels, and the whole party were on the point 
of being carried up into "the mountain when fortunately the ap- 
pearance of soldiers at a distance obliged the robbers to make 
off with the spoils they had secured, and leave the Popkins fam- 
ily to gather together the remnants of their effects, and make the 
best of their way to Fondi. 

When safe arrived, the alderman made a terrible blustering at 

1 Disclosed. 
19 






290 WASHINGTON IRVING, 

the inn, threatened to complain to the ambassador at Naples, 
and was ready to shake his cane at the whole country. The 
dandy had many stories to tell of his scuffles with the brigands, 
who overpowered him merely by numbers. As to the Misses 
Popkins, they were quite dehghted with the adventure, and were 
occupied the whole evening in writing it in their journals. They 
declared the captain of the band to be a most romantic-looking 
man, they dared to say some unfortunate lover or exiled noble- 
man, and several of the band to be very handsome young men, 
'' quite picturesque ! " 

" In verity," said mine host of Terracina, '' they say the cap- 
tain of the band is ten gallant homo,^^ 

*^ A gallant man ! " said the Enghshman indignantly ; '' I'd 
have your gallant man hanged like a dog ! " 

To dare to meddle with Enghshmen ! " said Mr. Hobbs. 
And such a family as the Popkinses ! " said Mr. Dobbs. 

"They ought to come upon the country for damages," said 
Mr. Hobbs. 

" Our ambassador should make a complaint to the govern- 
ment of Naples," said Mr. Dobbs. 

*' They should be obliged to drive these rascals out of the 
country," said Hobbs. 

'^ And if they did not, we should declare war against them," 
said Dobbs. 

'' Pish ! — humbug ! " muttered the Enghshman to himself, and 
walked away. 

The Englishman had been a little weaned by this story, and 
by the ultra zeal of his countrymen, and was glad when a sum- 
mons to their supper relieved him from the crowd of travelers. 
He walked out with his Venetian friends and a young French- 
man of an interesting demeanor, who had become sociable with 
them in the course of the conversation. They directed their 
steps towards the sea, which was lit up by the rising moon. 

As they strolled along the beach they came to where a party 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 291 

of soldiers were stationed in a circle. They were guarding a 
number of galley slaves, who were permitted to refresh them- 
selves in the evening breeze, and sport and roll upon the sand. 

The Frenchman paused and pointed to the group of wretches 
at their sports. '' It is difficult," said he, '' to conceive a more 
frightful mass of crime than is here collected. Many of these 
have probably been robbers such as you have heard described. 
Such is, too often, the career of crime in this country. The par- 
ricide, the fratricide, the infanticide, the miscreant of every kind, 
first flies from justice and turns mountain bandit, and then, when 
wearied of a life of danger, becomes traitor to his brother des- 
peradoes, betrays them to punishment, and thus buys a commu- 
tation of his own sentence from death to the galleys, happy in 
the privilege of wallowing on the shore an hour a day, in this 
mere state of animal enjoyment." 

The fair Venetian shuddered as she cast a look at the horde 
.of wTetches at their evening amusement. '' They seem," she 
said, ^' like so many serpents writhing together." And yet the 
idea that some of them had been robbers, those formidable 
beings that haunted her imagination, made her still cast another 
fearful glance, as we contemplate some terrible beast of prey 
with a degree of awe and horror, even though caged and 
chained. 

The conversation reverted to the tales of banditti which they 
had heard at the inn. The Englishman condemned some of 
them as fabrications, others as exaggerations. As to the story 
of the improvisatore, he pronounced it a mere piece of romance, 
originating in the heated brain of the narrator. 

''And yet," said the Frenchman, ''there is so much romance 
about the real life of those beings, and about the singular coun- 
try they infest, that it is hard to tell what to reject on the ground 
of improbability. I have had an adventure happen to myself 
which gave me an opportunity of getting some insight into their 
manners and habits, which I found altogether out of the com- 
mon run of existence." 



292 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

There was an air of mingled frankness and modesty about the 
Frenchman which had gained the good will of the whole party, 
not even excepting the Englishman. They all eagerly inquired 
after the particulars of the circumstances he alluded to, and as 
they strolled slowly up and down the seashore, he related the 
following adventure. 



THE PAINTER'S ADVENTURE. 

I AM an historical painter by profession, and resided for some 
time in the family of a foreign prince, at his villa about fifteen 
miles from Rome, among some of the most interesting scenery 
of Italy. It is situated on the heights of ancient Tusculum.^ In 
its neighborhood are the ruins of the villas of Cicero, Sylla, Lucul- 
lus, Rufinus,2 and other illustrious Romans, who sought refuge here 
occasionally from their toils, in the bosom of a soft and luxuri- 
ous repose. From the midst of dehghtful bowers, refreshed by 
the piu*e mountain, breeze, the eye looks over a romantic land- 
scape full of poetical and historical associations. The Alban 
Mountains,^ Tivoh, once the favorite residence of Horace ^ and 

1^ See note on Frascati, p. 267. 

2 Marcus Tullius Cicero (106-43 B.C.) was an illustrious Roman orator, 
philosopher, and statesman; Lucius Cornelius Sulla or Sylla (138-78 B.C.) 
was a Roman general and statesman who became Dictator of Rome ; Lucius 
Licinius Lucullus (110-58 or 57 B.C.) was a celebrated Roman general and 
consul; Rufinus (335-395) was an ambitious Roman courtier and states- 
man. 

3 Volcanic mountains in central Italy, near Rome. The highest peak, 
Monte Cavo (formerly Alban Mount), was the seat of the gods who watched 
over the destinies of Rome. 

4 The poet Horace had a great relish for rural pleasures, which he enjoyed 
in his famous villa in Tibur (now Tivoli), a town sixteen miles northeast of 
Rome. There are many different accounts of the founders and origin of 
this town. 



Tiber ^ winding through it, and St. Peter's •* dor 
midst, the monument, as it were, over the grave 

I assisted the prince in researches which he w 
the classic ruins of his vicinity. His exertions 
cessful. Many wrecks of admirable statues i 
exquisite sculpture wxre dug up, monuments 
magniticence that reigned in the ancient Tusci 
had studded his villa and its grounds with statue 
and sarcophagi,^ thus retrieved from the bosom 

The mode of life pursued at the villa w^as d 
diversified by interesting occupations and elega 
one passed the day according to his pleasure o: 
all assembled in a cheerful dinner party at suns 

It was on the fourth of November, a beautifu 
we had assembled in the saloon at the sound < 
bell. The family were surprised at the absen( 
confessor. They waited for him in vain, and 
themselves at table. Thev at first attributed 1 
having prolonged his customary walk, and the 
dinner passed without any uneasiness. Wher 
served, however, without his making his appeal 
to feel anxious. They feared he might have 
some alley of the woods, or might have fallen 
robbers. Not far from the villa, with the inter\ 
ley, rose the mountains of the Abruzzi, the stron 

1 Caius Cilnius Maecenas (70-8 B.C.) was a Roman s 
of letters, whose name has been rendered famous by his 
Horace, Virgil, and other poets. 

2 See Note 2, p. 267. 

3 A river in the central part of Italy. 

* St. Peter's Cathedral, the largest and most magni 



v^l J 



jia joaruune, a iioionous uanuu ciiiei, nau oiien ueen 
ing about the solitudes of Tusculum. The daring en- 
f these ruffians were well known ; the objects of their 
vengeance were insecure even in palaces. As yet they 
ted the possessions of the prince, but the idea of such 
spirits hovering about the neighborhood was sufficient 
1 alarm. 

"s of the company increased as evening closed in. The 
^red out forest guards and domestics with flambeaux to 
the confessor. They had not departed long when a 
i was heard in the corridor of the ground floor. The 
e dining on the first floor, and the remaining domestics 
3ied in attendance. There was no one on the ground 
5 moment but the housekeeper, the laundress, and three 
ers who were resting themselves and conversing with 
I. 

the noise from below, and presuming it to be occa- 
:he return of the absentee, I left the table and hastened 
, eager to gain intelligence that might relieve the anxi- 
prince and princess. I had scarcely reached the last 
I beheld before me a man dressed as a bandit, a car- 
hand, and a stiletto and pistols in his belt. His coun- 
id a mingled expression of ferocity and trepidation. 
I upon me, and exclaimed exultingly, '^ JScco il prln- 

once into what hands I had fallen, but endeavored to 
p coolness and presence of mind. A glance towards 
end of the corridor showed me several ruffians, clothed 
[ in the same manner with the one who had seized me. 

guarding the two females and the field laborers. The 
held me firmly by the collar, demanded repeatedly 
r not I were the prince ; his object evidently was to 



tance of misleading him. 

A sudden thought struck me how I migh 
from his clutches. I was unarmed, it is true, 
ous. His companions were at a distance. I 
tion I might wrest myself from him and spring 
whither he would not dare to follow me singl 
put in practice as soon as conceived. The n 
bare ; with my right hand I seized liim by it, ^ 
I grasped the arm which held the carbine. ^. 
my attack took him completely unawares, a 
nature of my grasp paralyzed him. He choke( 
felt his hand relaxing its hold, and was on th( 
myself away, and darting up the staircase befor 
himself, when I was suddenly seized by some ( 

I had to let go my grasp. The bandit, c 
upon me with fiury, and gave me several blows 
of his carbine, one of which wounded me se- 
head and covered me with blood. He took 
being stunned to rifle me of my watch and \ 
I had about my person. 

When I recovered from the effect of the 1 
voice of the chief of the banditti, who excla 
pr'mcipe; siamo C07ite7ite ; aitdiamo / " (^* It is tli 
let us be off." ) The band immediately close 
dragged me out of the palace, bearing off the t 
wise. 

I had no hat on, and the blood flowed fn 
managed to stanch it, however, with my poc 
which I bound round my forehead. The ca] 
conducted me in triumph, supposing me to b( 
had gone some distance before he learned his 



296 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

darted at me a ferocious look, swore I had deceived him and 
caused him to miss his fortune, and told me to prepare for death. 
The rest of the robbers were equally furious. I saw their hands 
upon their poniards, and I knew that death was seldom an 
empty threat with these ruffians. The laborers saw the peril into 
which their information had betrayed me, and eagerly assured 
the captain that I was a man for whom the prince would pay a 
great ransom. This produced a pause. For my part, I cannot 
say that I had been much dismayed by their menaces. I mean 
not to make any boast of courage, but I have been so schooled 
to hardship during the late revolutions, and have beheld death 
around me in so many perilous and disastrous scenes, that I have 
become in some measure callous to its ten-ors. The frequent 
hazard of life makes a man at length as reckless of it as a gam- 
bler of his money. To their threat of death I replied that the 
sooner it was executed the better. This reply seemed to aston- 
ish the captain, and the prospect of ransom held out by the 
laborers had, no doubt, a still greater effect on him. He con- 
sidered for a moment, assumed a calmer manner, and made a 
sign to his companions, who had remained waiting for my death 
warrant. "Forward I" said he; "we will see about this matter 
by and by ! " 

We descended rapidly towards the road of La Molara,i which 
leads to Rocca Priore. In the midst of this road is a sohtary 
inn. The captain ordered the troop to halt at the distance of a 
pistol shot from it, and enjoined profound silence. He approached 
the threshold alone, with noiseless steps. He examined the out- 
side of the door very narrowly, and then, returning precipitately, 
made a sign for 'the troop to continue its march in silence. It 
has since been ascertained that this was one of those infamous 
inns which are the secret resorts of banditti. The innkeeper had 

1 La Molara is an old castle on the Via Latina, a road which emerges 
from Rome and runs through a valley. It has lately been restored as far as 
Rocca Priore, a town on the summit of one of the Alban Hills, formerly 
known as Corbio. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 297 

an understanding with the captain, as he most probably had with 
the chiefs of the different bands. When any of the patrols and 
gendarmes were quartered at his house, the brigands were 
warned of it by a preconcerted signal on the door ; when there 
was no such signal they might enter with safety, and be sure of 
welcome. 

After pursuing our road a little farther, Ave struck off towards 
the woody mountains which envelop Rocca Priore. Our march 
was long and painful, with many circuits and windings ; at length 
we clambered a steep ascent covered with a thick forest, and 
when we had reached the center I was told to seat myself on 
the ground. No sooner had I done so than, at a sign from their 
chief, the robbers surrounded me, and spreading their great cloaks 
from one to the other, formed a kind of pavilion of mantles, to 
which their bodies might be said to serve as columns. The cap- 
tain then struck a light, and a flambeau was lit immediately. 
The mantles were extended to prevent the light of the flambeau 
from being seen through the forest. Anxious as was my situa- 
tion I could not look round upon this screen of dusky drapery, 
relieved by the bright colors of the robbers' garments, the gleam- 
ing of their weapons, and the variety of strong, marked counte- 
nances, lit up by the flambeau, without admiring the picturesque 
effect of the scene. It was quite theatrical. 

The captain now held an inkhorn, and giving me pen and paper, 
ordered me to write what he should dictate. I obeyed. It 
was a demand, couched in the style of robber eloquence, that 
the prince should send three thousand dollars for my ransom, or 
that my death should be the consequence of a refusal, 

I knew enough of the desperate character of these beings to 
feel assured this was not an idle menace. Their only mode of 
insuring attention to their demands is to make the infliction of 
the penalty inevitable. I saw at once, however, that the demand 
was preposterous and made in improper language. 

I told the captain so, and assured him that so extravagant a 
sum would never be granted ; that I was neither a friend nor 



298 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

relative of the prince, but a mere artist, employed to execute 
certain paintings ; that I had nothing to offer as a ransom but 
the price of my labors ; if this were not sufficient, my life was at 
their disposal ; it was a thing on which I set but little value. 

I was the more hardy in my reply because I saw that cool- 
ness and hardihood liad an effect upon the robbers. It is true, 
as I finished speaking, the captain laid his hand upon his stiletto ; 
but he restrained himself, and snatching the letter, folded it, and 
ordered me, in a peremptory tone, to address it to the prince. 
He then dispatched one of the laborers with it to Tusculum, who 
promised to return with all possible speed. 

The robbers now prepared themselves for sleep, and I was told 
that I might do the same. They spread their great cloaks on 
the ground, and lay down around me. One was stationed at a 
little distance to keep watch, and was relieved every two hours. 
The strangeness and wildness of this mountain bivouac among 
lawless beings whose hands seemed ever ready to grasp the sti- 
letto, and with whom life was so trivial and insecure, was enough 
to banish repose. The coldness of the earth and of the dew, how- 
ever, had a still greater effect than mental causes in disturbing 
my rest. The airs wafted to these mountains from the distant 
Mediterranean diffused a great chilliness as the night advanced. 
An expedient suggested itself. I called one of my fellow prison- 
ers, the laborers, and made him lie down beside me. Whenever 
one of my limbs became chilled, I approached it to the robust 
limb of my neighbor, and borrowed some of his warmth. In 
this way I was able to obtain a little sleep. 

Day at length dawned, and I was roused from my slumber by 
the voice of the chieftain. He desired me to rise and follow 
him. I obeyed. On considering his physiognomy attentively, 
it appeared a litde softened. He even assisted me in scram- 
bling up the steep forest, among rocks and brambles. Habit had 
made him a vigorous mountaineer, but I found it excessively toil- 
some to climb these rugged heights. We arrived at length at the 
summit of the mountain. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 299 

Here it was that I felt all the enthusiasm of my art suddenly 
awakened, and I forgot in an instant all my perils and fatigues, 
at this magnificent view of the sunrise in the midst of the moun- 
tains of the Abruzzi. It was on these heights that Hannibal ^ first 
pitched his camp and pointed out Rome to his followers. The 
eye embraces a vast extent of country. The minor height of 
Tusculum, with its villas and its sacred ruins, lies below ; the Sabine 
Hills 2 and the Albanian Mountains stretch on either hand ; and 
beyond Tusculum and Frascati spreads out the immense Cam- 
pagna, with its lines of tombs, and here and there a broken aque- 
duct stretching across it, and the towers and domes of the Eter- 
nal City ^ in the midst. 

Fancy this scene lit up by the glories of a rising sun, and burst- 
ing upon my sight as I looked forth from among the majestic for- 
ests of the Abruzzi. Fancy, too, the savage foreground, made still 
more savage by groups of banditti, armed and dressed in their w^ild, 
picturesque manner, and you will not wonder that the enthusiasm 
of a painter for a moment overpowered all his other feehngs. 

The banditti were astonished at my admiration of a scene which 
familiarity had made so common in their eyes. I took advantage 
of their halting at this spot, drew forth a quire of drawing paper, 
and began to sketch the features of the landscape. The height on 
which I was seated was wild and solitary, separated from the ridge 
of Tusculum by a valley nearly three miles wide, though the dis- 
tance appeared less from the purity of the atmosphere. This height 
was one of the favorite retreats of the banditti, commanding a 
lookout over the country, while at the same time it was covered 
with forests, and distant from the populous haunts of men. 

While I was sketching, my attention was called off for a mo- 
ment by the cries of birds and the bleatings of sheep. I looked 
around, but could see nothing of the animals which uttered them. 
They were repeated, and appeared to come from the summits of 
the trees. On looking more narrowly, I perceived six of the rob- 

1 See Note 2, p. 261. 2 a range in central Italy, near Rome. 

3 Rome is called the " Eternal City." 



300 WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. 

bers perched in the tops of oaks which grew on the breezy crest 
of the mountain, and commanded an uninterrupted prospect. 
They were keeping a lookout Hke so many vultures, casting their 
eyes into the depths of the valley below us, communicating with 
each other by signs, or holding discoiu^se in sounds which might 
be mistaken by the wayfarer for the cries of hawks and crows, 
or the bleating of the mountain flocks. After they had recon- 
noitered the neighborhood, and finished their singular discoiuse, 
they descended from their airy^ perch and returned to their pris- 
oners. The captain posted three of them at tlu"ee naked sides of 
the mountain, while he remained to guard us with what appeared 
his most trusty companion. 

I had my book of sketches in my hand. He requested to see 
it, and after having run his eye over it expressed himself con- 
vinced of the truth of my assertion that I was a painter. I 
thought I saw a gleam of good feehng dawning in him, and 
determined to avail myself of it. I knew that the worst of men 
have their good points and their accessible sides, if one would 
but studv them carefully. Indeed, there is a singular mixture in 
the character of the Italian robber. With reckless ferocity he 
often mingles traits of kindness and good humor. He is not 
always radically bad, but driven to his coiu^se of life by some 
unpremeditated crime, the effect of those sudden bursts of pas- 
sion to which the Italian temperament is prone. This has com- 
pelled him to take to the mountains, or, as it is technically termed 
among them, a?idare in campag?ia. ^ He has become a robber by 
profession, but, like a soldier, when not in action he can lay aside 
his weapon and his fierceness and become hke other men. 

I took occasion, from the observations of the captain on my 
sketchings, to fall into conversation with him, and found him 
sociable and communicative. By degrees I became completely 
at my ease with him. I had fancied I perceived about him a 
degree of self-love, which I determined to make use of. I as- 
sumed an air of careless frankness, and told him that, as an art- 

^ To go into the country. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 301 

ist, I pretended to the power of judging of the physiognomy ; 
that I thought I perceived something in his features and de- 
meanor which announced him worthy of higher fortunes ; that 
he was not formed to exercise the profession to which he had 
abandoned himself ; that he had talents and qualities fitted for a 
nobler sphere of action ; that he had but to change his course of 
life and, in a legitimate career, the same courage and endow- 
ments which now made him an object of terror would assure 
him the applause and admiration of society. 

I had not mistaken my man ; my discourse both touched and 
excited him. He seized my hand, pressed it, and replied with 
strong emotion, '' You have guessed the truth ; you have judged 
of me rightly." He remained for a moment silent, then, with a 
kind of effort, he resumed, " I will tell you some particulars of 
my life, and you will perceive that it was the oppression of others, 
rather than my own crimes, which drove me to the mountains. 
I sought to serve my fellow-men, and they have persecuted me 
from among them." We seated ourselves on the grass, and the 
robber gave me the following anecdotes of his history. 



THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN. 

I AM a native of the village of Prossedi.^ My father was easy 
enough in circumstances, and we lived peaceably and inde- 
pendently, cultivating our fields. All went on well with us un- 
til a new chief of the sbirri^was sent to our village to take 
command of the police. He was an arbitrary fellow, prying into 
everything, and practicing all sorts of vexations and oppressions 

1 A town in Italy, six miles from San Lorenzo, which is notorious as the 
headquarters of the most daring brigands that have in modern times infested 
the road from Rome to Naples. 

^ Constables. 



30 2 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

in the discharge of his office. I was at that time eighteen years 
of age, and had a natural love of justice and good neighborhood. 
I had also a little education, and knew something of history, so 
as to be able to judge a httle of men and their actions. All this 
inspired me with hatred for this paltry despot. My own family, 
also, became the object of his suspicion or dislike, and felt more 
than once the arbitrary abuse of his power. These things worked 
together in my mind, and I gasped after vengeance. My char- 
acter was always ardent and energetic, and, acted upon by the 
love of justice, determined me, by one blow, to rid the country 
of the tyrant. 

Full of my project, I rose one morning before peep of day, 
and, conceahng a stiletto under my waistcoat — here you see it ! 
(and he drew forth a long, keen poniard) — I lay in wait for him in 
the outskirts of the village. I knew all his haunts, and his habit 
of making his rounds and prowling about like a wolf in the gray 
of the morning.i At length I met him, and attacked him with 
fury. He was armed, but I took him unawares, and was full of 
youth and vigor. I gave him repeated blows to make sure work, 
and laid him lifeless at my feet. 

When I was satisfied that I had done for him,^ I returned with 
all haste to the village, but had the ill luck to meet two of the 
sbirri as I entered it. They accosted me, and asked if I had 
seen their chief. I assumed an air of tranquilhty, and told them 
I had not. They continued on their way, and within a few hours 
brought back the dead body to Prossedi. Their suspicions of me 
being already awakened, I was arrested and thrown into prison. 
Here I lay several weeks, when the prince, who was seigneur'^ 
of Prossedi, directed judicial proceedings against me. I was 
brought to trial, and a witness was produced who pretended to 
have seen me flying with precipitation not far from the bleeding 
body, and so I was condemned to the galleys for thirty years. 

1 " In the gray of the morning," i.e., at dawn. 

2 " Had done for liim," i.e., had killed him. 

3 Lord. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 303 

" Curse on such laws ! " vociferated the bandit, foaming with 
rage. " Curse on such a government ! and ten thousand curses 
on the prince who caused me to be adjudged so rigorously, while 
so many other Roman princes harbor and protect assassins a 
thousand times more culpable ! What had I done but what was 
inspired by a love of justice and my country ? Why w^as my act 
more culpable than that of Brutus, when he sacrificed Caesar ^ to 
the cause of liberty and justice ? " 

There was something at once both lofty and ludicrous in the 
rhapsody of this robber chief, thus associating himself with one of 
the great names of antiquity. It showed, however, that he had at 
least the merit of knowing the remarkable facts in the history of 
his country. He became more calm, and resumed his narrative. 

I was conducted to Civita Vecchia 2 in fetters. My heart was 
burning with rage. I had been married scarce six months to a 
woman whom I passionately loved, and who was pregnant. My 
family was in despair. For a long time I made unsuccessful 
efforts to break my chain. At length I found a morsel of iron, 
which I hid carefully, and endeavored with a pointed flint to 
fashion it into a kind of file. I occupied myself in this work 
during the night time, and when it was finished I made out, 
after a long time, to sever one of the rings of my chain. My 
flight was successful. 

I wandered for several weeks in the mountains which siuround 

1 Julius Caesar (100-44 B.C.), the great Roman general, statesman, and 
orator, was one of the most remarkable men that ever lived. He became un- 
disputed master of the known world, and was made imperator for life. He 
was publicly offered a regal crown, which he refused. He was assassinated 
by a number of conspirators, among whom was Marcus Junius Brutus (85 
-42 B.C.), a noted Roman, who had been treated with great kindness by 
Cet'sar, and was for a time greatly attached to him, but who was induced to 
join the conspiracy. 

2 A seaport on the Mediterranean, thirty-eight miles from Rome. It 
contains a prison. 



304 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Prossedi, and found means to inform my wife of the place where 
I was concealed. She came often to see me. I had determined 
to put myself at the head of an armed band. She endeavored, 
for a long time, to dissuade me, but finding my resolution fixed, 
she at length- united in my project of vengeance, and brought 
me, herself, my poniard. By her means I communicated with 
several brave fellows of the neighboring villages, whom I knew 
to be ready to take to the mountains, and only panting for an 
opportunity to exercise their daring spirits. We soon formed a 
combination, procured arms, and we have had ample opportuni- 
ties of revenging ourselves for the wrongs and injuries which 
most of us have suffered. Everything has succeeded with us 
until now, and had it not been for our blunder in mistaking you 
for the prince, our fortunes would have been made. 

Here the robber concluded his story. He had talked himself 
into complete companionship, and assured me he no longer bore 
me any grudge for the error of which I had been the innocent 
cause. He even professed a kindness for me, and wished me to 
remain some time with them. He promised to give me a sight 
of certain grottoes which they occupied beyond Velletri,^ and 
whither they resorted during the intervals of their expeditions. 

He assured me that they led a jovial life there, had plenty of 
good cheer, slept on beds of moss, and were waited upon by 
young and beautiful females, whom I might take for models. 

I confess I felt my curiosity roused by his descriptions of the 
grottoes and their inhabitants ; they realized those scenes in 
robber story which I had always looked upon as mere creations 
of the fancy. I should gladly have accepted his invitation and 
paid a visit to these caverns could I have felt more secure in my 
company. 

I began to find my situation less painful. I had evidently 
propitiated the good will of the chieftain, and hoped that he 

1 A town in southern Italy, a favorite excursion place for tourists. Its 
environs are very beautiful. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 305 

might release me for a moderate ransom. A new alarm, how- 
ever, awaited me. While the captain was looking out with im- 
patience for the return of the messenger who had been sent to 
the prince, the sentinel posted on the side of the mountain fac- 
ing the plain of La IMolara, came running towards us. ''We are 
betrayed ! " exclaimed he. " The police of Frascati are after us. 
A party of carabineers ^ have just stopped at the inn below the 
mountain." Then, laying his hand on his stiletto, he swore, with 
a terrible oath, that if they made the least movement towards 
the mountain, my life and the hves of my fellow prisoners should 
answer for it. 

The chieftain resumed all his ferocity of demeanor, and ap- 
proved of what his companion said ; but when the latter had re- 
turned to his post he turned to me with a softened air : '' I must 
act as chief," said he, " and humor my dangerous subalterns. It 
is a law with us to kill our prisoners rather than suffer them to 
be rescued ; but do not be alarmed. In case we are surprised, 
keep by me ; fly with us, and I will consider myself responsible 
for your life." 

There was nothing very consolatory in this arrangement, which 
would have placed me between two dangers. I scarcely knew, 
in case of flight, from which I should have the most to appre- 
hend, the carbines of the pursuers or the stilettos of the pursued. 
I remained silent, however, and endeavored to maintain a look 
of tranquillity. 

For an hour was I kept in this state of peril and anxiety. The 
robbers, crouching among their leaf)' coverts, kept an eagle watch 
upon the carabineers below, as they loitered about the inn, some- 
times lolling about the portal, sometimes disappearing for several 
minutes, then sallying out, examining their weapons, pointing in 
different directions, and apparently asking questions about the 
neighborhood. Not a movement, a gesture, was lost upon the 
keen eyes of the brigands. At length we were relieved from our 

1 Carabineers or carbineers are soldiers armed with short, light muskets, 
called carbines. 

20 



3o6 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

apprehensions. The carabineers, having finished their refresh- 
ment, seized their arms, continued along the valley towards the 
great road, and gradually left the mountain behind them. " I 
felt almost certain," said the chief, "that they could not be sent 
after us. They know too well how prisoners have fared in our 
hands on similar occasions. Our laws in this respect are inflexi- 
ble, and are necessary for our safety. If we once flinched from 
them, there would no longer be such a thing as a ransom to be 
procured." 

There were no signs yet of the messenger's return. I was pre- 
paring to resume my sketching when the captain drew a quire 
of paper from his knapsack. " Come," said he, laughing, "you 
are a painter ; take my likeness. The leaves of your portfolio are 
small ; draw it on this." I gladly consented, for it was a study 
that seldom presents itself to a painter. I recollected that Salva- 
tor Rosa^ in his youth had voluntarily sojourned for a time among 
the banditti of Calabria,^ and had filled his mind with the savage 
scenery and savage associates by which he was surrounded. I 
seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the thought. I found the 
captain the most docile of subjects, and, after various shiftings of 
position, placed him in an attitude to my mind. 

Picture to yourself a stern, muscular figure, in fanciful bandit 
costume, with pistols and poniard in belt ; his brawny neck bare, 
a handkerchief loosely thrown around it, and the two ends in 
front strung with rings of all kinds, the spoils of travelers ; relics 
and medals hanging on his breast ; his hat decorated with various 
colored ribbons ; his vest and short breeches of bright colors, and 
finely embroidered ; his legs in buskins or leggins. Fancy him 
on a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged oaks, lean- 
ing on his carbine, as if meditating some exploit, while far below 
are beheld villages and villas, the scenes of his maraudings, with 
the wide Campagna dimly extending in the distance. 

1 See Note i, p. 78. 

2 A division of Italy, formiiiLj tlic southwestern extremity of tlie penin- 
sula. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 3^7 

The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to admire 
himself upon paper. I had scarcely finished when the laborer 
arrived who had been sent for my ransom. He had reached 
Tusculum two hours after midnight. He had brought me a let- 
ter from the prince, who was in bed at the time of his arrival. 
As I had predicted, he treated the demand as extravagant, but 
offered five hundred dollars for my ransom. Having no money 
by him at the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, pay- 
able to whomsoever should conduct me safe and sound to Rome. 
I presented the note of hand to the chieftain. He received it 
with a shrug : " Oh, what use are notes of hand to us ? " said he. 
" Who can we send with you to Rome to receive it ? We are 
all marked men, known and described at every gate and military 
post and village church door. No, we must have gold and silver ; 
let the sum be paid in cash, and you shall be restored to liberty." 

The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to com- 
municate his determination to the prince. When I had finished 
the letter, and took the sheet from the quire, I found on the oppo- 
site side of it the portrait which I had just been tracing. I was 
about to tear it off and give it to the chief. 

" Hold! " said he, " let it go to Rome ; let them see what kind 
of a looking fellow I am. Perhaps the prince and his friends 
may form as good an opinion of me from my face as you have 
done." 

This was said sportively, yet it was evident there was vanity 
lurking at the bottom. Even this wary, distrustful chief of ban- 
ditti forgot for a moment his usual foresight and precaution, in 
the common wish to be admired. He never reflected what use 
might be made of this portrait in his pursuit and conviction. 

The letter was folded and directed, and the messenger departed 
again for Tusculum. It was now eleven o'clock in the morning, 
and as yet we had eaten nothing. In spite of all my anxiety I 
began to feel a craving appetite. I was glad, therefore, to hear 
the captain talk something about eating. He observed that for 
three days and nights they had been lurking about among rocks 



3o8 WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. 

and woods, meditating their expedition to Tusculum, during which 
time all their provisions had been exhausted. He should now 
take measures to procure a supply. Leaving me, therefore, in 
charge of his comrade, in whom he appeared to have implicit 
confidence, he departed, assuring me that in less than two hours 
I should make a good dinner. Where it was to come from was 
an enigma to me, though it was evident these beings had their 
secret friends and agents throughout the country. 

Indeed the inhabitants of these mountains, and of the valleys 
which they embosom, are a rude, half-civilized set. The to\\'ns 
and villages among the forests of the Abruzzi, shut up from the 
rest of the world, are almost like savage dens. It is wonderful 
that such rude abodes, so little known and visited, should be em- 
bosomed in the midst of one of the most traveled and civilized 
countries of Europe. Among these regions the robber prowls un- 
molested ; not a mountaineer hesitates to give him secret harbor 
and assistance. The shepherds, however, who tend their flocks 
among the mountains, are the favorite emissaries of the robbers 
when they would send messages down to the valleys either for 
ransom or supplies. 

The shepherds of the Abruzzi are as wild as the scenes they 
frequent. They are clad in a rude garb of black or brown sheep- 
skin ; they have high conical hats, and coarse sandals of cloth 
bound around their legs with thongs, similar to those worn by 
the robbers. They carry long staves, on which, as they lean, 
they form picturesque objects in the lonely landscape, and they 
are followed by their ever constant companion, the dog. They 
are a curious, que.stioning set, glad at any time to relieve the 
monotony of their solitude by the conversation of the passer-by, 
and the dog will lend an attentive ear, and put on as sagacious 
and inquisitive a look as his master. 

But I am wandering from my story. I was now left alone 
with one of the robbers, the confidential companion of the chief. 
He was the youngest and most vigorous of the band, and though 
his countenance had something of that dissolute fierceness which 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 309 

seems natural to this desperate, lawless mode of life, yet there 
were traces of manly beauty about it. As an artist I could not 
but admire it. I had remarked in him an air of abstraction and 
reverie, and at times a movement of inward suffering and impa- 
tience. He now sat on the ground, his elbows on his knees, his 
head resting between his clenched fists, and his eyes fixed on the 
earth with an expression of sadness and bitter rumination. I had 
grown famihar with him from repeated conversations, and had 
found him superior in mind to the rest of the band. I was 
anxious to seize any opportunity of sounding the feelings of these 
singular beings. I fancied I read in the countenance of this 
one traces of self-condemnation and remorse ; and the ease with 
which I had drawn forth the confidence of the chieftain encour- 
aged me to hope the same with his follower. 

After a little preliminary conversation, I ventured to ask him 
if he did not feel regret at having abandoned his family and 
taken to this dangerous profession. " I feel," replied he, " but 
one regret, and that will end only with my life." 

As he said this he pressed his clenched fists upon his bosom, 
drew his breath through his set teeth, and added, with a deep 
emotion, " I have something within here that stifles me ; it is hke 
a burning iron consuming my very heart. I could tell you a 
miserable story — ^but not now, another time." 

He relapsed into his former position, and sat with his head 
between his hands, muttering to himself in broken ejaculations 
and what appeared at times to be curses and maledictions. I 
saw he was not in a mood to be disturbed, so I left him to him- 
self. In a little while the exhaustion of his feelings, and prob- 
ably the fatigues he had undergone in this expedition, began to 
produce drowsiness. He struggled with it for a time, but the 
warmth and stillness of midday made it irresistible, and he at 
length stretched himself upon the herbage and fell asleep. 

I now beheld a chance of escape within my reach. My guard 
lay before me at my mercy — his vigorous limbs relaxed by 
sleep, his bosom open for the blow, his carbine slipped from his 



3IO WASHINGTOX IRVIXG. 

nerveless grasp and lying by his side, his stiletto half out of the 
pocket in which it was usually carried. Two only of his com- 
rades were in sight, and those at a considerable distance on the 
edge of the mountain, their backs turned to us, and their atten- 
tion occupied in keeping a lookout upon the plain. Through a 
strip of intervening forest, and at the foot of a steep descent, I 
beheld the village of Rocca Priore, To have secured the car- 
bine of the sleeping brigand, to have seized upon his poniard, 
and have plunged it in his heart, would have been the work of 
an instant. Should he die without noise, I might dart through 
the forest and down to Rocca Priore before my flight might be 
discovered. In case of alarm I should still have a fair start of 
the robbers, and a chance of getting beyond the reach of their 
shot. 

Here, then, was an opportunity for both escape and vengeance, 
perilous, indeed, but powerfully tempting. Had my situation 
been more critical I could not have resisted it. I reflected, 
however, for a moment. The attempt, if successful, would be 
followed by the sacrifice of my two fellow prisoners, who were 
sleeping profoundly and could not be awakened in time to es- 
cape. The laborer who had gone after the ransom might also 
fall a victim to the rage of the robbers, without the money which 
he brought being saved. Besides, the conduct of the chief to- 
wards me made me feel confident of speedy deliverance. These 
reflections overcame the first powerful impulse, and I calmed the 
turbulent agitation which it had awakened. 

I again took out my materials for drawing, and amused my- 
self with sketching the magnificent prospect. It was now about 
noon, and everything had sunk into repose, like the sleeping ban- 
dit before me. The noontide stillness that reigned over these 
mountains, the vast landscape below, gleaming with distant towns 
and dotted with various habitations and signs of hfe, yet all so 
silent, had a powerful effect upon my mind. The intermediate 
valleys, too, which lie among the mountains, have a peculiar air 
of sohtude. Few sounds are heard at midday to break the quiet 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 311 

of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of a solitary muleteer, lag- 
ging with his lazy animal along the road which winds through 
the center of the valley ; sometimes the faint piping of a shep- 
herd's reed from the side of the mountain ; or sometimes the bell 
of an ass slowly pacing along, followed by a monk with bare feet 
and bare, shining head, and carrying provisions to his convent. 

I had continued to sketch for some time among my sleeping 
companions when at length I saw the captain of the band ap- 
proaching, followed by a peasant leading a mule, on which was 
a well-filled sack. I at first apprehended that this was some new 
prey fallen into the hands of the robber ; but the contented look 
of the peasant soon reheved me, and I was rejoiced to hear that 
it was our promised repast. The brigands now came running 
from the three sides of the mountain, having the quick scent of 
vultures. Every one busied himself in unloading the mule and 
relieving the sack of its contents. 

The first thing that made its appearance was an enormous ham, 
of a color and plumpness that would have inspired the pencil 
of Teniers ; ^ it was followed by a large cheese, a bag of boiled 
chestnuts, a little barrel of wine, and a quantit)^ of good house- 
hold bread. Everything was arranged on the grass with a degree 
of symmetry, and the captain, presenting me with his knife, re- 
quested me to help myself. We all seated ourselves around the 
viands, and nothing was heard for a time but the sound of vig- 
orous mastication or the gurgling of the barrel of wine as it re- 
volved briskly about the circle. My long fasting, and mountain 
air and exercise, had given me a keen appetite ; and never did 
repast appear to me more excellent or picturesque. 

From time to time one of the band was dispatched to keep a 
lookout upon the plain. No enemy was at hand, and the din- 
ner was undisturbed. The peasant received nearly three times 
the value of his provisions, and set off down the mountain highly 
satisfied with his bargain. I felt invigorated by the hearty meal 

1 David Teniers the Younger (i6io-go), a celebrated Flemish painter, who 
excelled in tavern scenes and pictures of low life. 



312 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

I had made, and notwithstanding that the wound I had received 
the evening before was painful, yet I could not but feel extremely 
interested and gratified by the singular scenes continually pre- 
sented to me. Everything was picturesque about these wild 
beings and their haunts. Their bivouacs, their groups on guard, 
their indolent noontide repose on the mountain brow, their rude 
repast on the herbage among rocks and trees, — everything pre- 
sented a study for a painter ; but it was towards the approach of 
evening that I felt the highest enthusiasm awakened. 

The setting sun, declining beyond the vast Campagna, shed its 
rich yellow beams on the woody summit of the Abruzzi. Several 
mountains crowned with snow shone brilHantly in the distance, 
contrasting their brightness with others, which, thrown into shade, 
assumed deep tints of purple and violet. As the evening ad- 
vanced the landscape darkened into a sterner character. The 
immense solitude around, the wild mountains broken into rocks 
and precipices, intermingled with vast oaks, corks, and chestnuts, 
and the groups of banditti in the foreground, reminded me of 
the savage scenes of Salvator Rosa. 

To beguile the time the captain proposed to his comrades to 
.spread before me their jewels and cameos, as I must doubtless 
be a judge of such articles, and able to form an estimate of their 
value. He set the example, the others followed it, and in a few 
moments I saw the grass before me sparkling with jewels and 
gems that would have delighted the eyes of an antiquary or a 
fine lady. 

Among them were several precious jewels and antique intaglios 
and cameos of great value, the spoils, doubtless, of travelers of 
distinction. I found that they were in the habit of selling their 
booty in the frontier towns ; but as these, in general, were thinly 
and poorly peopled, and little frequented by travelers, they could 
offer no market for such valuable articles of taste and luxury. I 
suggested to them the certainty of their readily obtaining great 
prices for these gems among the rich strangers with whom Rome 
was thronged. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 2>'^Z 

The impression made upon their greedy minds was immediately 
apparent. One of the band, a young man and the least known, 
requested permission of the captain to depart the following day, 
in disguise, for Rome, for the purpose of traffic, promising, on 
the faith of a bandit (a sacred pledge among them), to return in 
two days to any place that he might appoint. The captain con- 
sented, and a curious scene took place ; the robbers crowded 
around him eagerly, confiding to him such of their jewels as they 
wished to dispose of, and giving him instructions what to demand. 
There was much bargaining and exchanging and selhng of trink- 
ets among them, and I beheld my watch, which had a chain and 
valuable seals, purchased by the young robber merchant of the ruf- 
fian who had plundered me, for sixty dollars. I now conceived 
a faint hope that if it went to Rome I might somehow or other 
regain possession of it.^ 

In the mean time da}^ declined, and no messenger returned from 
Tusculum. The idea of passing another night in the woods was 
extremely disheartening, for I began to be satisfied with what I 
had seen of robber life. The chieftain now ordered his men to 
follow him, that he might station them at their posts, adding that 
if the messenger did not return before night they must shift their 
quarters to some other place. 

I was again left alone with the young bandit who had before 
guarded me ; he had the same gloomy air and haggard eye, with 
now and then a bitter, sardonic smile. I determined to probe this 
ulcerated heart, and reminded him of a kind promise he had given 
me to tell me the cause of his suffering. It seemed to me as if 
these troubled spirits were glad of any opportunity to disburden 
themselves, and of having some fresh, undiseased mind with 
w^hich they could communicate. I had hardly made the request 

1 The hopes of the artist were not disappointed ; the robber was stopped 
at one of the gates of Rome. Something in his looks or deportment had ex- 
cited suspicion. He was searched, and the valuable trinkets found on him 
sufficiently evinced his character. On applying to the police the artist's 
watch was returned to him. 



314 IVASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. 

when he seated himself by my side, and gave me his stor\- in, as 
near as I can recollect, the following words. 



THE STORY OF THE YOUXG ROBBER. 

I WAS born in the little to^^-n of Frosinone,i which hes at the 
skirts of the Abruzzi. My father had made a little property 
in trade, and gave me some education, as he intended me for 
the Chm-ch ; but I had kept gay company too much to relish 
the cowl, so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a heed- 
less fellow, a little quarrelsome on occasion, but good-humored 
in the main, so I made my way ver\- well for a time, until I fell 
in love. There lived in our towm a sur\'eyor, or land bailiff, of 
the prince, who had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of sixteen. 
She was looked upon as something better than the common run - 
of our townsfolk, and was kept almost entirely at home. I saw 
her occasionally, and became madly in love with her ; she looked 
so fresh and tender, and so different from the sunburned females 
to whom I had been accustomed. 

As mv father kept me in money, I alwavs dressed well, and 
took all opportunities of showing myself off to advantage in the 
eyes of the Uttle beauty. I used to see her at church ; and as I 
could play a little upon the guitar, I gave a tune sometimes 
under her window of an evening, and I tried to have interviews 
with her in her father's vineyard, not far from the town, where 
she sometimes walked. She was evidently pleased with me ; but 
she was young and shy, and her father kept a strict eye upon 
her, and took alarm at my attentions, for he had a bad opinion 
of me, and looked for a better match for his daughter. I became 
furious at the difficulties thrown in my way, having been accus- 

1 A town of Italy on the stream Cosa, forty-eight miles from Rome. 

2 " Common run," i.e., ordinary people. 



TALES OF A TRA]'ELER. 315 

tomed always to easy success among the women, being consid- 
ered one of the smartest young fellows of the place. 

Her father brought home a suitor for her, — a rich farmer from 
a neighboring town. The wedding day was appointed, and prep- 
arations were making. I got sight of her at the window, and I 
thought she looked sadly at me. I determined the match should 
not take place, cost what it might. I met her intended bride- 
groom in the market place, and could not restrain the expression 
of my rage. A few hot words passed between us, when I drew 
my stiletto and stabbed him to the heart. I fled to a neighboring 
church for refuge, and with a little money I obtained absolution, 
but I did not dare to venture from my asylum. 

At^ that time our captain was forming his troop. He had 
known me from boyhood, and hearing of my situation, came to 
me in secret, and made such offers that I agreed to enroll myself 
among his followers. Indeed, I had more than once thought of 
taking to this mode of life, having known several brave fellows 
of the mountains, who used to spend their money freely among 
us youngsters of the town. I accordingly left my asylum late 
one night, repaired to the appointed place of meeting, took the 
oaths prescribed, and became one of the troop. We were for 
some time in a distant part of the mountains, and our wild, ad- 
venturous kind of life hit my fancy wonderfully, and diverted 
my thoughts. At length they returned with all their violence to 
the recollection of Rosetta. The solitude in which I often found 
myself gave me time to brood over her image, and, as I have 
kept watch at night over our sleeping camp in the mountains, 
my feelings have been aroused almost to a fever. 

At length we shifted our ground, and determined to make a 
descent upon the road between Terracina and Naples. In the 
course of our expedition we passed a day or two in the woody 
mountains which rise above Frosinone. I cannot tell you how 
I felt when I looked down upon that place, and distinguished 
the residence of Rosetta. I determined to have an interview 
with her — but to what purpose ? I could not expect that she 



o 



16 > WASHINGTON IRVING, 



would quit her home, and accompany me in my hazardous hfe 
among the mountains. She had been brought up too tenderly 
for that. When I looked upon the women who were associated 
with some of our troop, I could not have borne the thoughts of 
her being their companion. All return to my former life was like- 
wise hopeless, for a price was set upon my head. Still I deter- 
mined to see her ; the very hazard and fruitlessness of the thing 
made me furious to accomplish it. 

About three weeks since, I persuaded our captain to draw doM-n 
to the vicinity of Frosinone, suggesting the chance of entrapping 
some of its principal inhabitants, and compelling them to a ran- 
som. We were lying in ambush towards evening, not far from 
the vineyard of Rosetta's father. I stole quietly from my com- 
panions, and drew near to reconnoiter the place of her frequent 
walks. How my heart beat when among the vines I beheld the 
gleaming of a white dress! I knew it must be Rosetta's, it being 
rare for any female of that place to dress in white. I advanced 
secretly and without noise, until, putting aside the vines, I stood 
suddenly before her. She uttered a piercing shriek, but I seized 
her in my arms, put my hand upon her mouth, and conjured her 
to be silent. I poured out all the frenzy of my passion, offered 
to renounce my mode of life, to put my fate in her hands, to fly 
where we might live in safety together. All that I could say or 
do would not pacify her. Instead of love, horror and affright 
seemed to have taken possession of her breast. She struggled 
partly from my grasp, and filled the air with her cries. 

In an instant the captain and the rest of my companions were 
around us. I would have given anything at that moment had 
she been safe out of our hands, and in her father's house. It 
was too late. The captain pronounced her a prize, and ordered 
that she should be borne to the mountains. I represented to 
him that she was my prize, — that I had a previous claim to her ; 
and I mentioned my former attachment. He sneered bitterly 
in reply, observed that brigands had no business with village in- 
trigues, and that, according to the laws of the troop, all spoils of 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 317 

the kind were determined by lot. Love and jealousy were raging 
in my heart, but I had to choose between obedience and death. 
I surrendered her to the captain, and we made for the mountains. 

She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so feeble 
and faltering that it was necessary to support her. I could not 
endure the idea that my comrades should touch her, and assum- 
ing a forced tranquillity, begged she might be confided to me, as 
one to whom she was more accustomed. The captain regarded 
me for a moment with a searching look, but I bore it without 
flinching, and he consented. I took her in my arms ; she was 
almost senseless. Her head rested on my shoulder ; I felt her 
breath on my face, and it seemed to fan the flame which devoured 
me. O God ! to have this glowing treasure in my arms, and yet 
to think it was not mine. 

We arrived at the foot of the mountain. I ascended it with 
difficulty, particularly where the woods were thick, but I would 
not relinquish my dehcious burden. I reflected, with rage, how- 
ever, that I must soon do so. I felt tempted, the stiletto in my 
hand, to cut my way through them all, and bear her off in tri- 
umph. I scarcely conceived the idea before I saw its rashness ; 
but my brain was fevered with the thought that any but myself 
should enjoy her charms. I endeavored to outstrip my compan- 
ions by the quickness of my movements, and to get a httle dis- 
tance ahead, in case any favorable opportunity of escape should 
present. Vain effort ! The voice of the captain suddenly ordered 
a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor girl partly 
opened a languid eye, but was without strength or motion. I 
laid her upon the grass. The captain darted on me a terrible 
look of suspicion, and ordered me to scour the woods with my 
companions, in search of some shepherd who might be sent to 
her father to demand a ransom. 

I saw at once the peril. To resist with violence was certain 
death. I spoke out then with a fervor inspired by my passion 
and by despair. I reminded the captain that I was the first to 
seize her ; that she was my prize. His only reply was to cock 



3i8 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

his carbine, and at the signal my comrades did the same. They 
laughed with cruelty at my impotent rage. What could I do ? 
I felt the madness of resistance. I was menaced on all hands, 
and my companions obhged me to follow them. 

Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered by his emo- 
tions. Great drops of sweat stood on his forehead ; he panted 
rather than breathed ; his brawmy bosom rose and fell like the 
waves of the troubled sea. When he had become a little calm, he 
continued his recital. 

I was not long in finding a shepherd (said he). I ran with the 
rapidity of a deer. I had left my companions far behind, and 
I rejoined them before they had reached one half the distance I 
had made. I hurried them back to the place where we had left 
the captain. As we approached, I beheld him seated by the side 
of Rosetta. 

It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her hand, that 
she was made to trace a few characters, requesting her father to 
send three hundred dollars as her ransom. The letter was dis- 
patched by the shepherd. W^hen he was gone the chief turned 
sternly to me. "You have set an example," said he, " of mutiny 
and self-will, which, if indulged, would be ruinous to the troop. 
Had I treated you as our laws require, this bullet would have been 
driven through your brain. But you are an old friend. I ha^•e 
borne patiently with your fury and your folly. I have even pro- 
tected you from a fooHsh passion that would have unmanned you. 
As to this girl, the laws of our association must have their course." 

Here the robber paused again, panting with fury, and it was 
some moments before he could resume his story. 

Hell (said he) was raging in my heart. I beheld the impossi- 
bility of avenging myself, and I felt that, according to the articles 
in which we stood bound to one another, the captain was in the 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 319 

right. I rushed with frenzy from the place ; I jthrew myself upon 
the earth, tore up the grass with my hands, and beat my head 
and gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. When at length I re- 
turned, I beheld the wretched victim. An emotion of pity for 
a moment subdued my fiercer feelings. I bore her to the foot 
of a tree, and leaned her gently against it. I took my gourd, 
which was filled with wine, and applying it to her lips, endeav- 
ored to make her swallow a little. To what a condition was she 
reduced! — she whom I had once seen the pride of Frosinone, 
whom but a short time before I had beheld sporting in her 
father's vineyard, so fresh, and beautiful, and happy ! Her teeth 
were clinched, her eyes fixed on the ground, her form without 
motion, and in a state of absolute insensibiHty. I hung over 
her in an agony of recollection at all that she had been, and of 
anguish at what I now beheld her. I darted around, a look of 
hoiTor at my companions, who seemed like so many fiends ; and 
I felt a horror at being myself their accomplice. 

The captain, always suspicious, saw, w^ith his usual penetra- 
tion, what was passing within me, and ordered me to go upon 
the ridge of the woods, to keep a lookout over the neighborhood, 
and await the return of the shepherd. I obeyed, of course, sti- 
fling the fury that raged within me, though I felt, for the moment, 
that he was my most deadly foe. 

On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across my mind. 
I perceived that the captain was but following, with strictness, 
the terrible laws to which we had sworn fidelity ; that the passion 
by which I had been blinded might, with justice, have been fatal 
to me, but for his forbearance ; that he had penetrated my soul, 
and had taken precautions, by sending me out of the way, to 
prevent my committing any excess in my anger. From that in- 
stant I felt that I was capable of pardoning him. 

Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of the 
mountain. The country was sohtary and secure, and in a short 
time I beheld the shepherd at a distance crossing the plain. I 
hastened to meet him. He had obtained nothing. 



320 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

I knew that, according to the laws of our troop, her death was 
inevitable. Our oaths required it. I felt, nevertheless, that, not 
having been able to have her to myself, I could be her execu- 
tioner ! 

The robber again paused with agitation. I sat musing upon 
his last frightful words, which proved to what excess the passions 
may be carried when escaped from all moral restraint. There 
was a horrible verity in this story that reminded me of some of 
the tragic fictions of Dante. ^ 

We now come to a fatal moment (resumed the bandit). After 
the report of the shepherd, I returned with him, and the chief- 
tain received from his lips the refusal of her father. At a signal 
which we all understood, we followed him to some distance from 
the victim. He there pronounced her sentence of death. Every 
one stood ready to execute his orders, but I interfered. I ob- 
served that there was something due to pity as well as to justice ; 
that I was as ready as any one to approve the implacable law, 
which was to serve as a warning to all those who hesitated to 
pay the ransoms demanded for our prisoners ; but that, though the 
sacrifice was proper, it ought to be made without cruelty. "The 
night is approacliing," continued I ; "she will soon be wrapped in 
sleep ; let her then be dispatched. All I now claim on the score 
of former kindness is, let me strike the blow. I will do it as surely, 
though more tenderly, than another." Several raised their voices 
against my proposition, but the captain imposed silence on them. 
He told me I might conduct her into a thicket at some distance, 
and he relied upon my promise. 

I hastened to seize upon my prey. There was a forlorn kind 
of triumph at having at length become her exclusive possessor. I 
bore her off into the thickness of the forest. She remained in the 

1 Dante Alighieri (1265-1321), one of tlie greatest of Italian poets, author 
of the Divina Commedia or Divine Comedy. This work consists of three 
parts, — tlic Inferno, the Purgatorio, and the Paradiso. 



, TALES OF A TRAVELER. 321 

same state of insensibility or stupor. I was thankful that she did 
not recollect me, for had she once murmured my name, I should 
have been overcome. She slept at length in the arms of him who 
was to poniard her. Many were the conflicts I underwent be- 
fore I could bring myself to strike the blow. But my heart had 
become sore by the recent conflicts it had undergone, and I 
dreaded lest, by procrastination, some other should become her exe- 
cutioner. When her repose had continued for some time, I sepa- 
rated myself gently from her that I might not disturb her sleep, and 
seizing suddenly my poniard, plunged it into her bosom. A pain- 
ful and concentrated murmur, but without any convulsive move- 
ment, accompanied her last sigh. So perished this unfortunate. 

He ceased to speak. I sat, horror-struck, covering my face 
with my hands, seeking, as it were, to hide from myself the fright- 
ful images he had presented to my mind. I was roused from 
this silence by the voice of the captain. " You sleep," said he, 
" and it is time to be off. Come, we must abandon this height, 
as night is setting in, and the messenger is not returned. I will 
post some one on the mountain edge to conduct him to the place 
where we shall pass the night." 

This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at heart with 
the dismal story I had heard. I was harassed and fatigued, and 
the sight of the banditti began to grow insupportable to me. 

The captain assembled his comrades. We rapidly descended 
the forest, which we had mounted with so much difficulty in the 
morning, and soon arrived in what appeared to be a frequented 
road. The robbers proceeded with great caution, carrying their 
guns cocked, and looking on every side with wary and suspicious 
eyes. They were apprehensive of encountering the civic patrol. 
We left Rocca Priore behind us. There was a fountain near by, 
and as I was excessively thirsty, I begged permission to stop and 
drink. The captain himself went and brought me water in his 
hat. We pursued our route, when, at the extremity of an alley 
which crossed the road, I perceived a female on horseback, dressed 

21 



32 2 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

in white. She was alone. I recollected the fate of the poor ghl 
in the story, and trembled for her safety. 

One of the brigands saw her at the same instant, and plung- 
ing into the bushes, he ran precipitately in the direction towards 
her. Stopping on the border of the alley, he put one knee to the 
ground, presented his carbine ready to menace her or to shoot 
her horse if she attempted to fly, and in this way awaited her ap- 
proach. I kept my eyes fixed on her with intense anxiety. I felt 
tempted to shout and warn her of her danger, though my own 
destruction would have been the consequence. It was awful 
to see this tiger crouching ready for a bound, and the poor inno- 
cent victim unconsciously near him. Nothing but a mere chance 
could save her. To my joy the chance turned in her favor. 
She seemed almost accidentally to take an opposite path, which 
led outside of the woods, where the robber dared not venture. 
To this casual deviation she owed her safety. 

I could not imagine why the captain of the band had ventured 
to such a distance from the height on which he had placed the 
sentinel to watch the return of the messenger. He seemed him- 
self anxious at the risk to which he exposed himself. His move- 
ments were rapid and uneasy. I could scarce keep pace with him. 
At length, after three hours of what might be termed a forced 
march, we mounted the extremity of the same woods the summit 
of which we had occupied during the day ; and I learned with 
satisfaction that we had reached our quarters for the night. " You 
must be fatigued," said the chieftain ; " but it was necessary to 
survey the environs so as not to be surprised during the night. 
Had we met with the famous civic guard of Rocca Priore, you 
would have seen fine sport." Such was the indefatigable precau- 
tion and forethought of this robber chief, who really gave continual 
evidence of military talent. 

The night was magnificent. The moon, rising above the hori- 
zon in a cloudless sky, faintly lit up the grand features of the 
mountain, while lights twinkling here and there, like teiTestrial 
stars in the wide, dusky expanse of the landscape, betrayed the 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 323 

lonely cabins of the shepherds. Exhausted by fatigue and by the 
many agitations I had experienced, I prepared to sleep, soothed 
by the hope of approaching deliverance. The captain ordered 
his companions to collect some dry moss ; he arranged with his 
own hands a kind of mattress and pillow of it, and gave me his 
ample mantle as a covering. I could not but feel both surprised 
and gratified by such unexpected attentions on the part of this 1 
benevolent cutthroat ; for there is nothing more striking than to 
find the ordinary charities, which are matters of course in com- 
mon life, flourishing by the side of such stern and stferile crime. 
It is like finding tender flowers and fresh herbage of the valley 
growing among the rocks and cinders of the volcano. 

Before I fell asleep I had some further discourse with the cap- 
tain, who seemed to feel great confidence in me. He referred 
to our previous conversation of the morning ; told me he was 
weary of his hazardous profession ; that he had acquired suffi- 
cient property, and was anxious to return to the world and lead 
a peaceful life in the bosom of his family. He wished to know 
whether it was not in my power to procure for him a passport to 
the United States of America. I applauded his good intentions, 
and promised to do everything in my power to promote its suc- 
cess. We then parted for the night. I stretched myself upon 
my couch of moss, which, after my fatigues, felt like a bed of 
down ; and, sheltered by the robber's mantle from all humidity, I 
slept soundly, without waking, until the signal to arise. 

It was nearly six o'clock, and the day was just dawning. As 
the place where we had passed the night was too much exposed, 
we moved up into the thickness of the woods. A fire was kin- 
dled. While there was any flame the mantles were again extended 
round it, but when nothing remained but glowing cinders they were 
lowered, and the robbers seated themselves in a circle. 

The scene before me reminded me of some of those described 
by Homer.i There wanted only the victim on the coals, and 

1 The great blind epic poet of Greece, author of the Iliad and Odyssey. 
He is supposed to have flourished about looo B.C. 



324 WASHIXCrON IRVIXG. 

the sacred knife to cut off the succulent parts and distribute 
them around. My companions might have rivaled the grim 
warriors of Greece. In place of the noble repasts, however, of 
Achilles and Agamemnon, ^ I beheld displayed on the grass the 
remains of the ham which had sustained so vigorous an attack 
on the preceding evening, accompanied by the relics of the bread, 
cheese, and wine. We had scarcely commenced our frugal break- 
fast, when I heard again an imitation of the bleating of sheep, 
similar to what I had heard the day before. The captain an- 
swered it in the same tone. Two men were soon after seen de- 
scending from the woody height where we had passed the pre- 
ceding evening. On nearer approach, they proved to be the 
sentinel and the messenger. The captain rose, and went to meet 
them. He made a signal for his comrades to join him. They 
had a short conference, and then returning to me with great 
eagerness, " Your ransom is paid," said he, " you are free ! " 

Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot tell you what 
a rush of delight these tidings gave me. I cared not to finish 
my repast, but prepared to depart. The captain took me by the 
hand, requested permission to write to me, and begged me not 
to forget the passport. I replied that I hoped to be of effec- 
tual service to him, and that I relied on his honor to return the 
prince's note for five hundred dollars, now that the cash was 
paid. He regarded me for a moment with surprise, then seem- 
ing to recollect himself, '' E gitisto,^' said he, " cccolo — adiof^ 
He delivered me the note, pressed my hand once more, and we 
separated. The laborers were permitted to follow me, and we 
resumed with joy our road towards Tusculum. 

The Frenchman ceased to speak. The party continued, for 
a few moments, to pace the shore in silence. The story had 
made a deep impression, particularly on the Venetian lady. At 

1 Agamemnon, the brother of Menclaus, led the Greek forces during the 
Trojan War, but Achilles was the chief hero (see Note 2, p. 182). 

2 It is just; there it is — adieu! 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 325 

that part which related to the young girl of Frosinorie she was 
violently affected. Sobs broke from her ; she clung closer to her 
husband ; and as she looked up to him as if for protection, the 
moonbeams, shining on her beautifully fair countenance, showed 
it paler than usual, while tears glittered in her fine dark eyes. 

" Corragio, mia vita / " said he, as he gently and fondly tapped 
the white hand that lay upon his arm. 

The party now returned to the inn, and separated for the night. 
The fair Venetian, though of the sweetest temperament, was half 
out of humor with the Englishman for a certain slowness of faith 
which he had evinced throughout the whole evening. She could 
not understand this dislike to "humbug," as he termed it, which 
held a kind of sway over him, and seemed to control his opinions 
and his very actions. 

" I'll warrant," said she to her husband, as they retired for the 
night, " I'll warrant, with all his affected indifference, this Eng- 
lishman's heart would quake at the very sight of a bandit." 

Her husband gently, and good-humoredly, checked her. 

" I have no patience with these Enghshmen," said she, as she 
got into bed ; " they are so cold and insensible ! " 



THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENGLISHMAN. 

IN the morning all was bustle in the inn at Terracina. The pro- 
caccio had departed at daybreak on its route towards Rome, 
but the Englishman was yet to start, and the departure of an 
English equipage is always enough to keep an inn in a bustle. 
On this occasion there was more than usual stir, for the English- 
man, having much property about him, and having been con- 
vinced of the real danger of the road, had applied to the police, 
and obtained, by dint of hberal pay, an escort of eight dragoons 
and twelve foot soldiers, as far as Fondi. 

Courage, my love! 



326 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

Perhaps, too, there might have been a Kttle ostentation at bot- 
tom, though, to say the truth, he had nothing of it in his manner. 
He moved about, taciturn and reserved as usual, among the gap- 
ing crowd ; gave laconic orders to John, as he packed away the 
thousand and one indispensable conveniences of the night ; double- 
loaded his pistols with great sa?ig froid,'^ and deposited them in 
the pockets of the carriage, taking no notice of a pair of keen 
eyes gazing on him from among the herd of loitering idlers. 

The fair Venetian now came up with a request, made in her 
dulcet tones, that he would permit their carriage to proceed under 
protection of his escort. The Englishman, who was busy load- 
ing another pair of pistols for his servant, and held the ramrod 
between his teeth, nodded assent, as a matter of course, but with- 
out lifting up his eyes. The fair Venetian was a little piqued at 
what she supposed indifference. " O Dio ! " ^ ejaculated she 
softly as she retired. ** Quajito soiio inseiisibili questi Inglesiy ^ 

At length, off they set in gallant style, — the eight dragoons 
prancing in front, the twelve foot soldiers marching in rear, and 
the carriage moving slowly in the center, to enable the infantry 
to keep pace with them. They had proceeded but a few hun- 
dred yards when it was discovered that some indispensable arti- 
cle had been left behind. In fact, the Englishman's purse was 
missing, and John was dispatched to the inn to search for it. 
This occasioned a little delay, and the carriage of the Venetians 
drove slowly on. John came back out of breath and out of hu- 
mor. The purse was not to be found. His master was irritated ; 
he recollected the very place where it lay ; he had not a doubt 
the Italian servant had pocketed it. John was again sent back. 
He returned once more without the purse, but with the landlord 
and the whole household at his heels. A thousand ejaculations 
and protestations, accompanied by all sorts of grimaces and 
contortions. No purse had been seen ; his Excellenza must be 
mistaken. 

1 Coolness. 2 o God! 

3 How indiflFerent these Englishmen are! 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 327 

No, his Excellenza was not mistaken! The purse lay on the 
marble table, under the mirror ; a green purse, half full of gold 
and silver. Again a thousand grimaces and contortions, and 
vows by San Gennaro that no purse of the kind had been seen. 

The Englishman became furious. The waiter had pocketed 
it ; the landlord was a knave ; the inn, a den of thieves ; it was a 
vile country ; he had been cheated and plundered from one end 
of it to the other; but he'd have satisfaction — he'd drive right 
off to the police. 

He was on the point of ordering the postilions to turn back, 
when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the carriage, and 
the purse of money fell chinking to the floor. 

All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face. " Curse 
the purse ! " said he, as he snatched it up. He dashed a hand- 
ful of money on the ground before the pale, cringing waiter. 
" There, be off ! " cried he. "John, order the postiHons to drive 
on." 

About half an hour had been exhausted in this altercation. 
The Venetian carriage had loitered along, its passengers looking 
out from time to time, and expecting the escort every moment 
to follow. They had gradually turned an angle of the road that 
shut them out of sight. The little army was again in motion, 
and made a very picturesque appearance as it wound along at 
the bottom of the rocks, the morning sunshine beaming upon 
.the weapons of the soldiers. 

The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with him- 
self at what had passed, and consequently out of humor with all 
the world. As this, however, is no uncommon case with gentle- 
men who travel for their pleasure, it is hardly worthy of remark. 
They had wound up from the coast among the hills, and came 
to a part of the road that admitted of some prospect ahead. 

" I see nothing of the lady's carriage, sir," said John, leaning 
down from the coach box. 

" Pish ! " said the Enghshman testily ; " don't plague me about 
the lady's carriage. Must I be continually pestered with the 



328 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

concerns of strangers ? " John said not another word, for he 
understood his master's mood. 

The road grew more wild and lonely ; they were slowly pro- 
ceeding on a foot pace up a hill ; the dragoons were some dis- 
tance ahead, and had just reached the summit of the hill, when 
they uttered an exclamation, or rather shout, and galloped for- 
ward. The Englishman was roused from his sulky reverie. He 
stretched his head from the carriage, which had attained the brow 
of the hill. Before him extended a long, hollow defile, com- 
manded on one side by rugged, precipitous heights covered with 
bushes of scanty forest. At some distance he beheld the carriage 
of the Venetians overturned. A numerous gang of desperadoes 
were rifling it ; the young man and his servant were overpowered, 
and partly stripped ; and the lady was in the hands of two of the 
ruffians. The Englishman seized his pistols, sprang from the car- 
riage, and called upon John to follow him. 

In the mean time, as the dragoons came forward, the robbers, 
who were busy with the carriage, quitted their spoil, formed them- 
selves in the middle of the road, and taking a deliberate aim, 
fired. One of the dragoons fell, another was wounded, and the 
whole were for a moment checked and thrown into confusion. 
The robbers loaded again in an instant. The dragoons discharged 
their carbines, but without apparent effect. They received an- 
other volley, which, though none fell, threw them again into con- 
fusion. The robbers were loading a second time when they saw 
the foot soldiers at hand. " Scampa via /" ^ was the word. They 
abandoned their prey and retreated up the rocks, the soldiers 
after them. They fought from cliff to cliff and bush to bush, 
the robbers turning every now and then to fire upon their pur- 
suers ; the soldiers scrambling after them, and discharging their 
muskets whenever they could get a chance. Sometimes a sol- 
dier or a robber was shot down, and came tumbling among the 
cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from below whenever a robber 
came in sight. 

1 Be off at once! 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 329 

The Englishman had hastened to the scene of action, and the 
balls discharged at the dragoons had whistled past him as he ad- 
vanced. One object, however, engrossed his attention. It was 
the beautiful Venetian lady in the hands of two of the robbers, 
who, during the confusion of the fight, carried her shrieking up 
the mountain. He saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, 
and he sprang up the rocks to intercept the robbers as they bore 
off their prey. The ruggedness of the steep and the entangle- 
ments of the bushes delayed and impeded him. He lost sight 
of the lady, but was still guided by her cries, which grew fainter 
and fainter. They were off to the left, while the reports of mus- 
kets showed that the battle was raging to the right. At length 
he came upon what appeared to be a rugged footpath, faintly 
worn in a gully of the rocks, and beheld the ruffians at some 
distance hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them, hearing 
his approach, let go his prey, advanced towards him, and level- 
ing the carbine, which had been slung on his back, fired. The 
ball whizzed through the EngHshman's hat, and carried with it 
some of his hair. He returned the fire with one of his pistols, 
and the robber fell. The other brigand now dropped the lady, 
and drawing a long pistol from his belt, fired on his adversary 
with deliberate aim. The ball passed between his left arm and 
his side, sHghtly wounding the arm. The Enghshman advanced, 
and discharged his remaining pistol, which wounded the robber, 
but not severely. 

The brigand drew a stiletto and rushed upon his adversary, 
who eluded the blow, receiving merely a slight wound, and de- 
fended himself with his pistol, which had a spring bayonet. They 
closed with each other, and a desperate struggle ensued. The 
robber was a square-built, thickset man, powerful, muscular, and 
active. The Englishman, though of larger frame and greater 
strength, was less active, and less accustomed to athletic exer- 
cises and feats of hardihood, but he showed himself practiced 
and skilled in the art of defense. They were on a craggy height, 
and the Enghshman perceived that his antagonist was striving 



330 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

to press him to the edge. A side glance showed him also the 
robber whom he had first wounded, scrambling up to the assist- 
ance of his comrade, stiletto in hand. He had in fact attained 
the summit of the chff, he was within a few steps, and the English- 
man felt that his case was desperate, when he heard suddenly 
the report of a pistol, and the ruffian fell. The shot came from 
John, who had arrived just in time to save his master. 

The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and the vio- 
lence of the contest, showed signs of faltering. The Englishman 
pursued his advantage, pressed on him, and as his strength re- 
laxed, dashed him headlong from the precipice. He looked after 
him, and saw him lying motionless among the rocks below. 

The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He found 
her senseless on the ground. With his servant's assistance he 
bore her down to the road, where her husband was raving like 
one distracted. He had sought her in vain, and had given her 
over for lost ; and when he beheld her thus brought back in 
safety, his joy was equally wild and ungovernable. He would 
have caught her insensible form to his bosom had not the Eng- 
lishman restrained him. The latter, now really aroused, displayed 
a true tenderness and manly gallantry, which one would not have 
expected from his habitual phlegm. His kindness, however, was 
practical, not wasted in words. He dispatched John to the car- 
riage for restoratives of all kinds, and, totally thoughtless of him- 
self, was anxious only about his lovely charge. The occasional 
discharge of firearms along the height showed that a retreating 
fight was still kept up by the robbers. I'he lady gave signs of 
reviving animation. The Englishman, eager to get her from this 
place of danger, conveyed her to his own carriage, and commit- 
ting her to the care of her husband, ordered the dragoons to escort 
them to Fondi. The Venetian would have insisted on the English- 
man's getting into the carriage, but the latter refused. He poured 
forth a torrent of thanks and benedictions ; but the Englishman 
beckoned to the postilions to drive on. 

John now dressed his master's wounds, which were found not 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 33 1 

to be serious, though he was faint with loss of blood. The 
Venetian carriage had been righted, and the baggage replaced ; 
and getting into it, they set out on their way towards Fondi, 
leaving the foot soldiers still engaged in ferreting out the ban- 
ditti. 

Before arriving at Fondi the fair Venetian had completely re- 
covered from her swoon. She made the usual question : 

Where was she ? 

In the Englishman's carriage. 

How had she escaped from the robbers ? 

The Englishman had rescued her. 

Her transports were unbounded, and mingled with them were 
enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude to her deliverer. A thou- 
sand times did she reproach herself for having accused him of 
coldness and insensibility. The moment she saw him she rushed 
into his arms with the vivacity of her nation, and hung about his 
neck in a speechless transport of gratitude. Never was man more 
embarrassed by the embraces of a fine woman. 

" Tut, tut ! " said the Englishman. 

"You are wounded !" shrieked the fair Venetian, as she saw 
blood upon his clothes. 

" Pooh ! nothing at all." 

" My deliverer ! my angel ! " exclaimed she, clasping him again 
round the neck, and sobbing on his bosom. 

" Pish ! " said the Englishman, with a good-humored tone, but 
looking somewhat foolish ; " this is all humbug." 

The fair Venetian, however, has never since accused the Eng- 
lish of insensibihty. 



PART IV. 



THE MONEY DIGGERS. 

FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICK- 
ERBOCKER. 

** Now I remember those old women's words, 
Who in my youth would tell me winter's tales : 
And speak of sprites and ghosts that glide by night 
About the place where treasure hath been hid." 

Marlowe's Jew of Malta. 



HELL GATE. 

ABOUT six miles from the renowned city of the Manhattoes,^ 
JTx. in that sound, or arm of the sea, which passes between the 
mainland and Nassau,^ or Long Island, there is a narrow strait, 
where the current is violently compressed between shouldering 
promontories, and horribly perplexed by rocks and shoals. Being, 
at the best of times, a very violent, impetuous current, it takes 
these impediments in mighty dudgeon, boiling in whirlpools, 
brawling and fretting in ripples, raging and roaring in rapids and 
breakers, and, in short, indulging in all kinds of wrongheaded 
paroxysms. At such times, woe to any unlucky vessel that ven- 
tures within its clutches. 

This termagant humor, however, prevails only at certain times 
of tide. At low water, for instance, it is as pacific a stream 
as you would wish to see ; but as the tide rises it begins to fret ; 
at half tide it roars with might and main, like a bull bellowing 
for more drink ; but when the tide is full it relapses into quiet, 
and, for a time, sleeps as soimdly as an alderman after dinner. 
In fact, it may be compared to a quarrelsome toper, who is a 
peaceable fellow enough when he has no liquor at all, or when 
he has a skin full, but who, when half-seas-over,^ plays the very 
devil. 

This mighty, blustering, bullying, hard-drinking little strait was 
a place of great danger and perplexity to the Dutch navigators 

1 Manhattan Island, now New York City, derived its name from the 
Manhattoes, or Manhattans, the tribe of Indians inhabiting the island when 
it was discovered by the Dutch. 

2 Nassau was the old name for Long Island, which is separated from New 
York by the East River. 

3 Slang for "half intoxicated." 

335 



33^ WASHINGTON IRVING. 

of ancient days, hectoring their tub-built barks in a most unruly 
style, whirling them about in a manner to make any but a Dutch- 
man giddy, and not unfrequently stranding them upon rocks and 
reefs, as it did the famous squadron of Oloffe the Dreamer ^ 
when seeking a place to found the city of the INIanhattoes. Where- 
upon, out of sheer spleen, they denominated it Helle gat^ and 
solemnly gave it over to the devil. This appellation has since 
been aptly rendered into English by the name of Hell Gate,^ and 
into nonsense by the name of Hurl Gate, according to certain 
foreign intruders, who neither understood Dutch nor English — 
may St. Nicholas ^ confound them ! 

This strait of Hell Gate was a place of great awe and perilous 
enterprise to me in my boyhood, having been much of a navi- 
gator on those small seas, and having more than once run the 
risk of shipwreck and drowning in the course of certain hohday 
voyages, to which, in common with other Dutch urchins, I was 
rather prone. Indeed, partly from the name, and partly from 
various strange circumstances connected with it, this place had 
far more terrors in the eyes of my truant companions and myself 
than had Scylla •* and Charybdis * for the navigators of yore. 

1 Oloffe van Kortlandt or van Cortlandt (1600-84), mayor of New York 
from 1655 almost uninterruptedly till 1664. Irving tells us that he was 
nicknamed "the Dreamer " because of his marvelous talent for dreaming, 
" for there was never anything of consequence happened but he declared he 
had previously dreamed it." 

2 Hell Gate, or Hurl Gate, is a navigable channel connecting Long Island 
vSound, through the East River, with New York Harbor and the Hudson. 
The numerous reefs in this channel (bearing the curious names of Hog Back, 
Hen and Chickens, Pot Rock, Frying Pan, etc.), and the swift, shifting 
eddies they produced, were a source of great danger and occasioned many 
wrecks until they were removed or leveled by blasting between 1870 and 
1885. 

3 St. Nicholas, the guardian and patron of children, merchants, and sailors. 
He is the Santa Claus (or Klaus) of the Dutch. The date of his birth is un- 
known ; he died in 340. 

4 Scylla, or Sciglio, is a celebrated rocky headland in the narrowest part 
of the Strait of Messina, directly opposite the dangerous whirlpool of 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 337 

In the midst of this strait, and hard by a group of rocks called 
the Hen and Chickens, there lay the wreck of a vessel which had 
been entangled in the whirlpools and stranded during a storm. 
There was a wild story told to us of this being the wreck of a 
pirate, and some tale of bloody murder which I cannot now rec- 
ollect, but which made us regard it with great awe, and keep far 
from it in our cruisings. Indeed, the desolate look of the forlorn 
hulk, and the fearful place where it lay rotting, were enough to 
awaken strange notions. A row of timberheads, blackened by 
time, just peered above the surface at high water ; but at low 
tide a considerable part of the hull was bare, and its great ribs 
or timbers, partly stripped of their planks, and dripping with sea- 
weeds, looked hke the huge skeleton of some sea monster. There 
was also the stump of a mast, with a few ropes and blocks swing- 
ing about and whistling in the wind, while the sea gull wheeled 
and screamed around the melancholy carcass. I have a faint 
recollection of some hobgoblin tale of sailors' ghosts being seen 
about this wreck at night, with bare skulls, and blue lights in 
their sockets instead of eyes ; but I have forgotten all the partic; 
ulars. 

In fact, the whole of this neighborhood was like the straits of 
Pelorus ^ of yore, a region of fable and romance to me. From 
the strait to the Manhattoes, the borders of the Sound are greatly 
diversified, being broken and indented by rocky nooks overhung 
with trees, which give them a wild and romantic look. In the 
time of my boyhood they abounded with traditions about pirates, 
ghosts, smugglers, and buried money, which had a wonderful 
effect upon the young minds of my companions and myself. 

As I grew to more mature years, I made diligent research 
after the truth of these strange traditions, for I have always been 

Charybdis. It was a place of great terror to ancient navigators, who in trying 
to avoid Scylla would fall into Charybdis. 

1 Cape Pelorus (now Cape Faro) at the northeastern extremity of the 
island of Sicily, bounds, with the opposite coast of Calabria, that part of the 
Strait of Messina which contains Scylla and Charybdis. 
22 



33^ WASHINGTON IRVING. 

a curious investigator of the valuable, but obscure, branches of 
the history of my native province. I found infinite difficulty, 
however, in arriving at any precise information. In seeking to 
dig up one fact, it is incredible the number of fables that I un- 
earthed. I will say nothing of the Devil's Stepping-Stones,^ by 
which the arch fiend made his retreat from Connecticut to Long 
Island, across the Sound, seeing the subject is likely to be learn- 
edly treated by a worthy friend and contemporary historian, 
whom I have furnished with particulars thereof. Neither will I 
say anything of the black man in a three-cornered hat, seated 
in the stern of a jolly-boat, who used to be seen about Hell Gate 
in stormy weather, and who went by the name of the "pirate's 
spiike^' (i.e., pirate's ghost), and whom, it is said, old Governor 
Stuyvesant - once shot with a silver bullet, because I never could 
meet with any person of stanch credibility who professed to have 
seen this specter, unless it were the widow of Manus Conklen, 
the blacksmith of Frogsneck;^ but then, poor woman, she was a 
little purblind, and might have been mistaken, though they say 
she saw farther than other folks in the dark. 

All this, however, was but little satisfactory in regard to the 
tales of pirates and their buried money, about which I was most 



1 The Stepping-Stones are rocks projecting in a line from the shore of Long 
Island into Long Island Sound, directly opposite City Island, about eleven 
miles from New York City. The legend relates that the arch fiend went to 
war with the Connecticut Indians to settle a claim to the ownership of Con- 
necticut. Being defeated, he retreated from Connecticut, keeping close to 
the Sound till he reached the point where, the tide being low, these rocks 
showed their heads, and he was able to avail himself of them as stepping- 
stones to Long Island. A very interesting account of the devil and his step- 
ping-stones may be found in the Collections of the New York Historical 
Society, second series, vol. ii. 1849, — Memoir on Names in New York, by 
Judge Egbert Benson, first president of the New York Historical Society. 

2 Peter Stuyvesant (1602-82), the last Dutch governor of New Nether- 
lands, the old name for New York. 

3 A corruption of Throgg's Neck, a point of land on the north side of the 
entrance to Long Island Sound. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 339 

curious ; and the following is all that I could, for a long time, 
collect, that had anything like an air of authenticity. 



KIDD THE PIRATE. 



IN old times, just after the territory of the New Netherlands 
had been wrested from the hands of their High Mightinesses, 
the Lords States-General ^ of Holland, by King Charles n.,^ 
and while it was as yet in an unquiet state, the province 
was a great resort of random adventurers, loose livers, and all 
that class of haphazard fellows who live by their wits, and dislike 
the old-fashioned restraint of law and gospel. Among these, the 
foremost were the buccaneers. These were rovers of the deep, 
who perhaps in time of war had been educated in those schools 
of piracy, the privateers,^ but having once tasted the sweets of 
plunder, had ever retained a hankering after it. There is but a 
slight step from the privateersman to the pirate ; both fight for 
the love of plunder; only that the latter is the bravest, as he 
dares both the enemy and the gallows. 

But in whatever school they had been taught, the buccaneers 
that kept about the English colonies were daring fellows, and 

1 A title of dignity given to the members of the legislative assembly of the 
Netherlands. 

2 Charles 11. (1630-85), King of England, granted to his brother, the Duke 
of York, a large tract of land, including the New Netherlands, which had 
been claimed and settled by the Dutch. In 1664 the Duke of York arrived 
before New Amsterdam with a large fleet, and the Dutch were obliged to 
surrender their claims. Thereafter the state and city were called New York. 

3 The privateers were armed private vessels, manned by privateersmen, 
who were commissioned to cruise against an enemy's commerce. Buccaneers, 
or pirates, were unauthorized plunderers of any ships. 



340 U'ASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. 

made sad work in times of peace among the Spanish settlements 
and Spanish merchantmen. The easy access to the harbor of 
the Manhattoes, the number of hiding places about its waters, 
and the laxity of its scarcely organized government, made it a 
great rendezvous of the pirates, where they might dispose of 
their booty, and concert new depredations. As they brought 
home with them wealthy lading of all kinds, the luxuries of the 
tropics and the sumptuous spoils of the Spanish provinces, and 
disposed of them with the proverbial carelessness of freebooters, 
they were welcome visitors to the thrifty traders of the ^klanhattoes. 
Crews of these desperadoes, therefore, the runagates ^ of every 
country and every clime, might be seen swaggering in open day 
about the streets of the little burgh, elbo^^^[ng its quiet mynheers,- 
trafficking away their rich, outlandish plunder at half or quarter 
price to the wary merchant, and then squandering their prize 
money in taverns, — drinking, gambling, singing, swearing, shout- 
ing, and astounding the neighborhood with midnight brawl and 
ruffian revelry. 

At length these excesses rose to such a height as to become a 
scandal to the provinces, and to call loudly for the interposition 
of government. Measures were accordingly taken to put a stop 
to the widely extended evil, and to ferret this vermin brood out 
of the colonies. 

Among the agents employed to execute this purpose was the 
notorious Captain Kidd.^ He had long been an equivocal char- 

1 Fugitives. 

2 Mynheer is the Dutch equivalent for •' Mr. ;" hence " mj-nheers," Dutch- 



men. 



3 William Kidd ( 1 650-1 701), a Scotch navigator, was intrusted on Gov- 
ernor Bellomont's recommendation with the command of a ship called the 
Adventure, whose mission was to suppress piracy. It soon began to be 
rumored that he had made several unlawful captures, among them that 
of an East Indian ship called the Quedah Merchant. On his arrival in 
Boston in 1699 he was arrested on a charge of piracy, and sent to Eng- 
land. Though the charge of piracy could not be proved against him, he 
was executed, for the murder of one of his crew, in 1701. Before his arrest 



TALES OF A TRAl'ELER. 341 

acter, — one of those nondescript animals of the ocean that are 
neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He was somewhat of a trader, some- 
thing more of a smuggler, with a considerable dash of the pica- 
roon. ^ He had traded for many years among the pirates, in a 
little rakish,- mosquito-built ^ vessel, that could run into all kinds 
of waters. He knew all their haunts and lurking places, was al- 
ways hooking about on mysterious voyages, and was as busy as a 
Mother Gary's chicken ^ in a storm. 

This nondescript personage was pitched upon by government 
as the very man to hunt the pirates by sea, upon the good old 
maxim of " setting a rogue to catch a rogue," or as otters are 
sometimes used to catch their cousins-german,'' the fish. 

Kidd accordingly sailed for New York, in 1695, in a gallant 
vessel called the Adventure Galley^ well armed and duly com- 
missioned. On arriving at his old haunts, however, he shipped 
his crew on new terms, enlisted a number of his old comrades, — 
lads of the knife and the pistol, — and then set sail for the East. 
Instead of cruising against pirates, he turned pirate himself, 
steered to the Madeiras,^ to Bonavista,^ and Madagascar,"^ and 
cruised about the entrance of the Red Sea. Here, among other 
maritime robberies, he captured a rich Quedah ^ merchantman, 

he had deposited on Gardiner's Isle, off the east end of Long Island, a con- 
siderable portion of his wealth. As this, when recovered, did not nearly 
equal the fabulous riches ascribed to him, popular rumor gave rise to the 
various reports of treasures he had hidden. 

1 Pirate. 

2 A rakish vessel is one having an unusual amount of rake or inclination 
of the masts. Piratical vessels were distinguished for their rakish build. 

3 A mosquito fleet is any assemblage of small craft ; hence, a mosquito- 
built vessel is a small vessel. 

4 " Mother Gary's chicken," a name for the stormy petrel, whose ap- 
pearance always forbodes a storm. 

5 First cousins. 

6 The Madeiras and Bonavista are islands of the eastern Atlantic. 
"^ A large island off the eastern coast of Africa. 

8 Quedah, or Queda, is a state of the Malay Peninsula, the extreme southern 
point of the mainland of Asia. 



342 IVASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. 

manned by Moors,^ though commanded by an Englishman. 
Kidd would fain have passed this off for a worthy exploit, as 
being a kind of crusade against the infidels, but government had 
long since lost all relish for such Christian triumphs. 

After roaming the seas, trafficking his prizes, and changing 
from ship to ship, Kidd had the hardihood to return to Boston, 
laden with booty, with a crew of swaggering companions at his 
heels. 

Times, however, were changed. The buccaneers could no 
longer show a whisker in the colonies with impunity. The new 
governor, Lord Bellomont,- had signalized himself by his zeal in 
extirpating these offenders, and was doubly exasperated against 
Kidd, having been instrumental in appointing him to the trust 
which he had betrayed. No sooner, therefore, did he show him- 
self in Boston, than the alarm was given of his reappearance, and 
measures were taken to arrest this cutpurse ^ of the ocean. The 
daring character which Kidd had acquired, however, and the 
desperate fellows who followed like bulldogs at his heels, caused 
a little delay in his arrest. He took advantage of this, it is said, 
to bury the greater part of his treasures, and then carried a high 
head about the streets of Boston. He even attempted to defend 
himself when arrested, but was secured and thrown into prison, 
with his followers. Such was the formidable character of this 
pirate and his crew that it was thought advisable to dispatch a 
frigate to bring them to England. Great exertions were made 
to screen him from justice, but in vain ; he and his comrades were 
tried, condemned, and hanged at Execution Dock in London. 

1 A race inhabiting the Barbary States in northern Africa. 

2 Richard Coote, Earl of Bellomont (1636-1701), was governor of New 
York and Massachusetts. Being specially admonished on his appointment 
to the governorship by William III. to put a stop to piracy, he organized 
a private expedition, with Kidd as leader, to suppress the pirates. He be- 
lieved the rumors of Kidd's dishonesty and had him arrested when he reached 
Boston. 

3 One who cuts purses ; hence, a robber. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 343 

Kidd died hard, for the rope with which he was first tied up 
broke with his weight, and he tumbled to the ground. He was 
tied up a second time, and more effectually ; hence came, doubt- 
less, the story of Kidd's having a charmed life, and that he had 
to be twice hanged. 

Such is the main outline of Kidd's history, but it has given 
birth to an innumerable progeny of traditions. The report of 
his having buried great treasures of gold and jewels before his 
arrest, set the brains of all the good people along the coast in a 
ferment. There were rumors on rumors of great sums of money 
found here and there, sometimes in one part of the country, 
sometimes in another ; of coins with Moorish inscriptions, doubt- 
less the spoils of his Eastern prizes, but which the common peo- 
ple looked upon with superstitious awe, regarding the Moorish 
letters as diabolical or magical characters. 

Some reported the treasure to have been buried in solitary, 
unsettled places, about Plymouth and Cape Cod ; but by degrees 
various other parts, not only on the eastern coast, but along the 
shores of the Sound, and even of Manhattan and Long Island, 
were gilded by these rumors. In fact, the rigorous measures of 
Lord Bellomont spread sudden consternation among the bucca- 
neers in every part of the provinces ; they secreted their money 
and jewels in lonel}^, out of the way places, about the wild shores 
of the rivers and seacoast, and dispersed themselves over the 
face of the country. The hand of justice prevented many of 
them from ever returning to regain their buried treasures, which 
remained, and remain probably to this day, objects of enterprise 
for the money digger. 

This is the cause of those frequent reports of trees and rocks 
bearing mysterious marks, supposed to indicate the spots where 
treasures lay hidden, and many have been the ransackings after 
the pirate's booty. In all the stories which once abounded of 
these enterprises, the devil played a conspicuous part. Either he 
was conciliated by ceremonies and invocations, or some solemn com- 
pact was made with him. Still he was ever prone to play the 



344 ll'ASHIXG70\ IJ<VIXG. 

money diggers some slipper}' trick. Some would dig so far as to 
come to an iron chest, when some baffling circumstance was sure 
to take place. Either the earth would fall in and fill up the pit, 
or some direful noise or apparition would frighten the partv from 
the place. Sometimes the devil himself would appear, and bear 
off the prize when ^^•ithin their ver\' grasp, and if they revisited 
the place the next day not a trace would be found of their labors 
of the preceding night. 

All these rumors, however, were extremely vague, and for a long 
time tantalized, without gratifnng, my curiosity. There is noth- 
ing in this world so hard to get at as truth, and there is nothing 
in this world but truth that I care for. I sought among all mv 
favorite sources of authentic information, the oldest inhabitants, 
and particularly the old Dutch wives of the province ; but though 
I flatter myself that I am better versed than most men in the 
curious history of my native province, yet for a long time my 
inquiries were unattended with any substantial result. 

At length it happened that one calm day in the latter part of 
siunmer, I was relaxing myself from the toils of severe study by 
a day's amusement in fishing in those waters which had been the 
favorite resort of my boyhood. I was in company with several 
worthy burghers of my native city, among whom were more than 
one illustrious member of the corporation, whose names, did I 
dare to mention them, would do honor to my humble page. 
Our sport was indifferent. The fish did not bite freely, and we 
frequently changed our fishing ground without bettering our luck. 
We were at length anchored close under a ledge of rocky coast, 
on the eastern side of the island of ^lanhatta. It was a still, 
warm day. The stream whirled and dimpled by us, without a 
wave or even a ripple, and everything was so calm and quiet 
that it was almost startling when the kingfisher would pitch him- 
self from the branch of some high tree, and after suspending 
himself for a moment in the air, to take his aim, would souse 
into the smooth water after his prey. While we were lolling in 
our boat, half drowsy with the warm stillness of the day and the 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 345 

dullness of our sport, one of our party, a wortliy alderman, was 
overtaken by a slumber, and, as he dozed, suffered the sinker of 
his drop hne to He upon the bottom of the river. On waking, 
he found he had caught something of importance from the 
weight. On drawing it to the surface, we were much surprised 
to find it a long pistol of yery cmious and outlandish fashion, 
which, from its rusted condition, and its stock being worm-eaten 
and covered with barnacles, appeared to have lain a long time 
under water. The unexpected appearance of this document of 
warfare occasioned much speculation among my pacific com- 
panions. One supposed it to have fallen there during the Revo- 
lutionary War ; ^ another, from the peculiarity of its fashion, attrib- 
uted it to the voyagers in the earliest days of the settlement, 
perchance to die renowned Adriaen Block, ^ who explored the 
Sound, and discovered Block Island, since so noted for its cheese. 
But a third, after regarding it for some time, pronounced it to 
be of veritable Spanish workmanship. 

"I'll warrant," said he, "if this pistol could talk, it would tell 
strange stories of hard fights among the Spanish Dons.^ I've 
no doubt but it is a relic of the buccaneers of old times ; who 
knows but it belonged to Kidd himself ? " 

" Ah ! that Kidd was a resolute fellow," cried an old, iron- 
faced Cape Cod whaler. " There's a fine old song about him, 
all to the tune of 

' My name was Robert Kidd, 
When I sailed, when I sailed,' 

and then it tells about how he gained the devil's good graces by 
burying the Bible : 

1 The American Revolution or War of Independence, 1775-83. 

2 A famous Dutch navigator who visited Manhattan Island in 1613-14, 
sailed along the coast of Long Island, and discovered Block Island, nine miles 
from the mainland of Rhode Island. 

3 A Spanish title, formerly given to men of rank, but now used in a sense 
equivalent to our " Mr.," and given to all classes. 



346 IVASHIKGTOX IRVING. 

* I'd a Bible in my hand, 

When I sailed, when I sailed, 
And I sunk it in the sand 
When I sailed.' i 

"Odsfish! if I thought this pistol had belonged to Kidd, I 
should set great store by it, for curiosity's sake. By the way, I 
recollect a story about a fellow who once dug up Kidd's biuied 
money, which w^as ^Titten by a neighbor of mine, and which I 
learned by heart. As the fish don't bite just now, I'll tell it to 
you, by way of passing away the time." And so saying, he gave 
us the following naiTation. 



THE DEVIL AND TOM WALKER. 

A FEW miles from Boston, in Massachusetts, there is a deep 
J^\. inlet, \\anding several miles into the interior of tlie countr)- 
from Charles Bay,^ and terminating in a thickly wooded swamp 
or morass. On one side of this inlet is a beautiful dark grove ; 
on the opposite side the land rises abruptly from the water's edge 
into a high ridge, on which grow a few scattered oaks of great 
age and immense size. Under one of these gigantic trees, accord- 
ing to old stories, there was a great amount of treasure buried by 
Kidd the pirate. The inlet allowed a facility to bring the money 
in a boat, secretly and at night, to the very" foot of the hill ; the 
elevation of the place permitted a good lookout to be kept that 
no one was at hand ; while the remarkable trees formed good 
landmarks by which the place might easily be found again. The 
old stories add, moreover, that the devil presided at the hiding 
of the money, and took it under his guardianship ; but this, it is 
well known, he always does with biuied treasure, particularly when 

1 An old New England ballad attributed to Captain Kidd. 

2 An old name for the estuary into which the Charles River expands be- 
tween Boston and Cambridge. It is now known as Back Bay. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 347 

it has been ill gotten. Be that as it may, Kidd never returned 
to recover his wealth, being shortly after seized at Boston, sent 
out to England, and there hanged for a pirate. 

About the year 1727, just at the time that earthquakes were 
prevalent in New England and shook many tall sinners down 
upon their knees, there lived near this place a meager, miserly 
fellow, of the name of Tom Walker. He had a wife as miserly 
as himself ; they were so miserly that they even conspired to 
cheat each other. Whatever the woman could lay hands on she 
hid away ; a hen could not cackle but she was on the alert to 
secure the new laid ^gg. Her husband was continually prying 
about to detect her secret hoards, and many and fierce were the 
conflicts that took place about what ought to have been common 
property. They lived in a forlorn-looking house that stood 
alone and had an air of starvation. A few straggling savin ^ 
trees, emblems of sterility, grew near it ; no smoke ever curled 
from its chimney, no traveler stopped at its door. A miserable 
horse, whose ribs were as articulate as the bars of a gridiron, 
stalked about a field where a thin carpet of moss, scarcely cover- 
ing the ragged beds of pudding stone, tantalized and balked his 
hunger ; and sometimes he would lean his head over the fence, 
look piteously at the passer-by, and seem to petition deliverance 
from this land of famine. 

The house and its inmates had altogether a bad name. Tom's 
wife was a tall termagant, fierce of temper, loud of tongue, and 
strong of arm. Her voice was often heard in wordy warfare 
with her husband, and his face sometimes showed signs that 
their conflicts were not confined to words. No one ventured, 
however, to interfere between them. The lonely wayfarer shrunk 
within himself at the horrid clamor and clapperclawing,^ eyed 
the den of discord askance, and hurried on his way, rejoicing, if 
a bachelor, in his celibacy. 

One day that Tom Walker had been to a distant part of the 

1 The American red cedar. It grows in dry hills or deep swamps. 

2 Scoldin?. 



34^ WASHIXGTOX JKVJXG. 

neighborhood, he took what he considered a short cut homeward, 
through the swamp. Like most short cuts it was an ill-chosen 
route. The swamp was thickly grown with great gloomy pines and 
hemlocks, some of them ninety feet high, which made it dark 
at noonday, and a retreat for all the owls of the neighborhood. 
It was full of pits and quagmires, partly covered with weeds and 
mosses, where the green surface often betrayed the traveler into 
a gulf of black, smothering mud ; there were also dark and stag- 
nant pools, the abodes of the tadpole, the bullfrog, and the water 
snake, where the trunks of pines and hemlocks lay half drowned, 
half rotting, looking like alligators sleeping in the mire. 

Tom had long been picking his way cautiously through this 
treacherous forest, stepping from tuft to tuft of rushes and roots, 
which afforded precarious footholds among deep sloughs, or pa- 
cing carefully, like a cat, along the prostrate trunks of trees, star- 
tled now and then by the sudden screaming of the bittern or the 
quacking of a wild duck rising on the wing from some sohtary 
pool. At length he arrived at a firm piece of ground, which ran 
out Hke a peninsula into the deep bosom of the swamp. It had 
been one of the strongholds of the Indians during their wars with 
the first colonists. Here they had thrown up a kind of fort, 
which they had looked upon as almost impregnable, and had used 
as a place of refuge for their squaws and children. Nothing re- 
mained of the old Indian fort but a few embankments, gradually 
sinking to the level of the surrounding earth, and already over- 
grown in part by oaks and other forest trees, the foliage of which 
formed a contrast to the dark pines and hemlocks of the swamp. 

It was late in the dusk of evening when Tom Walker reached 
the old fort, and he paused there awhile to rest himself. Any 
one but he would have felt unwilling to linger in this lonely, mel- 
ancholy place, for the common people had a bad opinion of it, 
from the stories handed down from the time of the Indian wars, 
when it was asserted that the savages held incantations here, and 
made sacrifices to the evil spirit. 

Tom Walker, however, was not a man to be troubled with 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 349 

any fears of the kind. He reposed himself for some time on 
the trunk of a fallen hemlock, listening to the boding cry of the 
tree toad, and delving with his walking staff into a mound of 
black mold at his feet. As he turned up the soil unconsciously, 
his staff struck against something hard. He raked it out of the 
vegetable mold, and lo! a cloven skull, with an Indian toma- 
hawk buried deep in it, lay before him. The rust on the weapon 
showed the time that had elapsed since this death blow had been 
given. It was a dreary memento of the fierce struggle that had 
taken place in this last foothold of the Indian warriors. 

** Humph !" said Tom Walker, as he gave it a kick to shake 
the dirt from it. 

** Let that skull alone ! " said a gruff voice. Tom lifted up his 
eyes, and beheld a great black man seated directly opposite him 
on the stump of a tree. He was exceedingly surprised, having 
neither heard nor seen any one approach, and he was still more 
perplexed on observing, as well as the gathering gloom would per- 
mit, that the stranger was neither negro nor Indian. It is true he 
was dressed in a rude, half Indian garb, and had a red belt or 
sash swathed round his body, but his face was neither black nor 
copper color, but swarthy and dingy, and begrimed with soot, as 
if he had been accustomed to toil among fires and forges. He 
had a shock of coarse black hair, that stood out from his head 
in all directions, and bore an ax on his shoulder. 

He scowled for a moment at Tom with a pair of great red eyes. 

" What are you doing on my grounds ? " said the black man, 
with a hoarse, growling voice. 

" Your grounds ! " said Tom with a sneer, " no more your 
grounds than mine ; they belong to Deacon Peabody." 

" Deacon Peabody be d — d," said the stranger, " as I flatter 
myself he will be if he does not look more to his own sins and 
less to those of his neighbors. Look yonder, and see how Dea- 
con Peabody is faring." 

Tom looked in the direction that the stranger pointed, and 
beheld one of the great trees, fair and flourishing without, but 



35° WASHINGTON IRVING. 

rotten at the core, and saw that it had been nearly hewn through, 
so that the first high wind was hkely to blow it down. On the 
bark of the tree was scored the name of Deacon Peabody, an 
eminent man who had waxed wealthy by driving shrewd bargains 
with the Indians. He now looked around, and found most of 
the tall trees marked with the name of some great man of the col- 
ony, and all more or less scored by the ax. The one on which he 
had been seated, and which had evidently just been hewn down, 
bore the name of Crowminshield, and he recollected a mighty rich 
man of that name, who made a vulgar display of wealth which it 
was whispered he had acquired by buccaneering. 

" He's just ready for burning I " said the black man, Nnth a 
growl of triumph. " You see I am likely to have a good stock 
of firewood for winter." 

" But what right have you," said Tom, " to cut down Deacon 
Peabody's timber ? " 

" The right of a prior claim," said the other. " This wood- 
land belonged to me long before one of your white-faced race 
put foot upon the soil." 

" And pray, who are you, if I may be so bold ? " said Tom. 

"Oh, I go by various names. I am the wild 'huntsman' in 
some countries, the 'black miner ' in others. In this neighborhood 
I am known by the name of the 'black woodsman.' I am he to 
whom the red men consecrated this spot, and in honor of whom 
they now and then roasted a white man, by way of sweet-smell- 
ing sacrifice. Since the red men have been exterminated by 
you white savages, I amuse myself by presiding at the persecu- 
tions of Quakers ^ and Anabaptists ; - I am the great patron and 

1 Quakers, or Friends, a religious sect founded by George Fox in 1650. 
They were persecuted in England and fled to New England for refuge, where 
they met with the same fate at the hands of the Puritans, until they found a 
refuge in the colony founded by Penn in Pennsylvania. 

2 The Anabaptists were a religious sect which arose in Germany in the 
sixteenth century, and agitated reforms of all sorts. They suffered cruel per- 
secutions in Germany, the Netherlands, and England. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 351 

prompter of slave dealers, and the grand master of the Salem 
witches." ^ 

" The upshot of all which is that, if I mistake not," said Tom 
sturdily, " you are he commonly called ' Old Scratch.' " 2 

** The same, at your service ! " repHed the black man, with a 
half civil nod. 

Such was the opening of this interview, according to the old 
story, though it has almost too familiar an air to be credited. 
One would think that to meet with such a singular personage, 
in this wild, lonely place, would have shaken any man's nerves ; 
but Tom was a hard-minded fellow, not easily daunted, and he 
had Kved so long w^ith a termagant wife that he did not even 
fear the devil. 

It is said that after this commencement they had a long and 
earnest conversation together, as Tom returned homeward. The 
black man told him of great sums of money buried by Kidd the 
pirate under the oak trees on the high ridge, not far from the 
morass. All these were under his command, and protected by 
his power, so that none could find them but such as propitiated 
his favor. These he offered to place within Tom Walker's reach, 
having conceived an especial kindness for him ; but they were to 
be had only on certain conditions. What these conditions were 
may be easily surmised, though Tom never disclosed them pub- 
licly. They must have been very hard, for he required time to 
think of them, and he was not a man to stick at trifles when 
money was in view. When they had reached the edge of the 
swamp the stranger paused. " What proof have I that all you 
have been telling me is true ? " said Tom. " There's my signa- 
ture," said the black man, pressing his finger on Tom's forehead. 
So saying, he turned off among the thickets of the swamp, and 

1 The city of Salem, Mass., was the chief scene of the persecution of the 
Quakers in 1661, and of the strange delusion known as the " Salem Witch- 
craft," in 1692, which led to the torture and hanging of innocent men, women, 
and children. 

2 An ancient jocular name for the devil. 



352 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

seemed, as Tom said, to go down, down, down into the earth, 
until nothing but his head and shoulders could be seen, and so 
on, until he totally disappeared. 

When Tom reached home he found the black print of a finger 
burned, as it were, into his forehead, which nothing could oblit- 
erate. 

The first news his wife had to tell him was the sudden death 
of Absalom Crowninshield, the rich buccaneer. It was announced 
in the papers with the usual flourish, that a great man had fallen 
in Israel. 

Tom recollected the tree which his black friend had just hewn 
down, and which was ready for burning. " Let the freebooter 
roast," said Tom ; " who cares I " He now felt convinced that 
all he had heard and seen was no illusion. 

He was not prone to let his wife into his confidence, but as 
this was an uneasy secret he willingly shared it with her. All 
her avarice was awakened at the mention of hidden gold, and 
she urged her husband to comply with the black man's terms, 
atid secure what would make them wealthy for life. However 
Tom might have felt disposed to sell himself to the devil, he was 
determined not to do so to oblige his wife, so he flatly refused, 
out of the mere spirit of contradiction. Many and bitter were 
the quarrels they had on the subject, but the more she talked the 
more resolute was Tom not to be damned to please her. 

At length she determined to drive the bargain on her own ac- 
count, and, if she succeeded, to keep all the gain to herself. Be- 
ing of the same fearless temper as her husband, she set off for 
the old Indian fort towards the close of a summer's day. She 
was many hours absent. When she came back she was reserved 
and sullen in her replies. She spoke something of a black man 
whom she had met about twilight hewing at the root of a tall 
tree. He was sulky, however, and would not come to terms ; 
she was to go again with a propitiator}- offering, but what it was 
she forbore to say. 

The next evening she set off again for the swamp, with her 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 353 

apron heavily laden. Tom waited and waited for her, but in 
vain ; midnight came, but she did not make her appearance ; 
morning, noon, night returned, but still she did not come. Tom 
now grew uneasy for her safety, especially as he found she had 
carried off in her apron the silver teapot and spoons and every 
portable article of value. Another night elapsed, another morn- 
ing came, but no wife. In a word, she was never heard of more. 

What was her real fate nobody knows, in consequence of so 
many pretending to know. It is one of those, facts which have 
become confounded by a variety of historians. Some asserted 
that she lost her way among the tangled mazes of the swamp, and 
sank into some pit or slough ; others, more uncharitable, hinted 
that she had eloped with the household booty, and made off to 
some other province ; while others sm^mised that the tempter had 
decoyed her into a dismal quagmire, on the top of which her hat 
was found lying. In confirmation of this it was said a great black 
man, with an ax on his shoulder, was seen late that very evening 
coming out of the swamp, carrying a bundle tied in a check 
apron, with an air of surly triumph. 

The most current and probable story, however, observes that 
Tom Walker grew so anxious about the fate of his wife and his 
property that he set out at length to seek them both at the Indian 
fort. During a long summer's afternoon he searched about the 
gloomy place, but no wife was to be seen. He called her name 
repeatedly, but she was nowhere to be heard. The bittern alone 
responded to his voice, as he flew screaming by, or the bullfrog 
croaked dolefully from a neighboring pool. At length, it is said, 
just in the brown hour of twilight, when the owls began to hoot 
and the bats to flit about, his attention was attracted by the clam- 
or of carrion crows hovering about a cypress tree. He looked 
up, and beheld a bundle tied in a check apron and hanging 
in the branches of the tree, with a great vulture perched hard by, 
as if keeping watch upon it. He leaped with joy, for he recog- 
nized his wife's apron and supposed it to contain the household 
valuables. 

23 



354 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

" Let us get hold of the property," said he consolingly to him- 
self, " and we will endeavor to do without the woman." 

As he scrambled up the tree the vulture spread its wide T^-ings 
and sailed off, screaming, into the deep shadows of the forest, 
Tom seized the check apron, but, woeful sight 1 found nothing 
but a heart and liver tied up in it ! 

Such, according to this most authentic old stor\^, was all that 
was to be found of Tom's wife. She had probably attempted 
to deal with the black man as she had been accustomed to deal 
with her husband ; but though a female scold is generally consid- 
ered a match for the devil, yet in this instance she appears to 
have had the worst of it. She must have died game,i however, 
for it is said Tom noticed many prints of cloven feet deeply 
stamped about the tree, and found handfuls of hair that looked 
as if they had been plucked from the coarse black shock of the 
woodman. Tom knew his wife's prowess by experience. He 
shrugged his shoulders as he looked at the signs of a fierce 
clapperclawing. " Egad," said he to himself, " Old Scratch must 
have had a tough time of it I " 

Tom consoled himself for the loss of his property with the 
loss of his wife, for he was a man of fortitude. He even felt 
something Hke gratitude towards the black woodman, who, he 
considered, had done him a kindness. He sought, therefore, to 
cultivate a further acquaintance with him, but for s6me time with- 
out success ; the old blacklegs played shy, for whatever people 
may think, he is not always to be had for calling for ; he knows 
how to play his cards when pretty sure of his g^me. 

At length, it is said, when delay had whetted Tom's eagerness 
to the quick, and prepared him to agree to anything rather than 
not gain the promised treasure, he met the black man one even- 
ing in his usual woodman's dress, with his ax on his shoulder, 
sauntering along the swamp, and humminiz a tune. He affected 
to receive Tom's advances with great indifference, made brief re- 
plies, and went on humming his tune. 

1 " Died game," i.e., died fighting. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 355 

By degrees, however, Tom brought him to business, and they 
began to haggle about the terms on which the former was to have 
the pirate's treasure. There was one condition which need not 
be mentioned, being generally understood in all cases where the 
devil grants favors ; but there were others about which, though of 
less importance, he was inflexibly obstinate. He insisted that the 
money found through his means should be employed in his ser- 
vice. He proposed, therefore, that Tom should employ it in the 
black traffic, — that is to say, that he should fit out a slave ship. 
This, however, Tom resolutely refused ; he was bad enough, in 
all conscience, but the devil himself could not tempt him to turn 
slave trader. 

Finding Tom so squeamish on this point, he did not insist upon 
it, but proposed, instead, that he should turn usurer, the devil be- 
ing extremely anxious for the increase of usurers, looking upon 
them as his peculiar people. \ I 

To this no objections were made, for it was just to Tom's taste. 

" You shall open a broker's shop in Boston next month," said 
the black man. 

" I'll do it to-morrow, if you wish," said Tom Walker. 

"You shall lend money at two per cent, a month." 

" Egad, I'll charge four ! " replied Tom Walker. 

" You shall extort bonds, foreclose mortgages, drive the mer- 
chants to bankruptcy " — 

'' I'll drive them to the d— 1! " cried Tom Walker. 

" You are the usurer for my money ! " said blacklegs with 
dehght. *' When will you want the rhino ? " 

" This very night." 

" Done ! " said the devil. 

" Done ! " said Tom Walker. So they shook hands and struck 
a bargain. 

A few days' time saw Tom Walker seated behind his desk in 
a countinghouse in Boston. 

His reputation for a ready-moneyed man, who would lend 
money out for a good consideration, soon spread abroad. Every- 



356 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

body remembers the time of Governor Belcher,^ when money 
was particularly scarce. It was a time of paper credit. The 
country had been deluged with government bills ; the famous 
Land Bank ^ had been established ; there had been a rage for 
speculating ; the people had run mad with schemes for new set- 
tlements, for building cities in the wilderness ; land jobbers went 
about with maps of grants and townships and Eldorados,^ lying 
nobody knew where, but which everybody was ready to purchase. 
In a word, the great speculating fever which breaks out every 
now and then in the country had raged to an alarming degree, 
and everybody was dreaming of making sudden fortunes from 
nothing. As usual the fever had subsided, the dream had gone 
off, and the imaginary fortunes with it ; the patients were left in 
doleful plight, and the whole country resounded with the conse- 
quent cry of " hard times." 

At this propitious time of public distress did Tom Walker set 
up as usurer in Boston. His door was soon thronged by cus- 
tomers. The needy and adventurous, the gambHng speculator, 
the dreaming land jobber, the thriftless tradesman, the merchant 
with cracked credit, — in short, every one driven to raise money 
by desperate means and desperate sacrifices hurried to Tom 
Walker. 

Thus Tom was the universal friend of the needy, and acted 
like a "friend in need;" that is to say, he always exacted good 
pay and good security. In proportion to the distress of the ap- 

1 Jonathan Belcher (1681-1757), governor of Massachusetts and New 
Jersey. 

2 In 1740 the paper currency of New England had deteriorated to one fifth 
its value. The Land Bank was a private enterprise, established at this time 
for the purpose of relieving the financial difficulties. The English Parliament 
suppressed the new bank. This not only stopped the operations of the bank, 
but gave every bill holder a right to sue every partner or director for the sum 
he had lost. 

3 The Spaniards of the sixteenth century gave the name Eldorado to an 
imaginary country in the interior of South America, reputed to abound in gold 
and precious stones ; hence, any region of fabulous wealth. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER, 357 

plicant was the hardness of his terms. He accumulated bonds 
and mortgages, gradually squeezed his customers closer and 
closer,! and sent them at length, dry as a sponge, from his door. 

In this way he made money hand over hand,2 became a rich 
and mighty man, and exalted his cocked hat^ upon 'Change. 
He built himself, as usual, a vast house, out of ostentation, but 
left the greater part of it unfinished and unfurnished, out of par- 
simony. He even set up a carriage in the fullness of his vain- 
glory, though he nearly starved the horses which drew it; and 
as the ungreased wheels groaned and screeched on the axletrees 
you would have thought you heard the souls of the poor debtors 
he was squeezing. 

As Tom waxed old, however, he grew thoughtful. Having 
secured the good things of this world, he began to feel anxious 
about those of the next. He thought with regret on the bargain 
he had made with his black friend, and set his wits to work to 
cheat him out of the conditions. He became, therefore, all of a 
sudden, a violent churchgoer. He prayed loudly and strenuously, 
as if heaven were to be taken by force of lungs. Indeed, one 
might always tell when he had sinned most during the week by 
the clamor of his Sunday devotion. The quiet Christians who had 
been modestly and steadfastly traveling Zionward,^ were struck 
with self-reproach at seeing themselves so suddenly outstripped 
in their career by this new-made convert. Tom was as rigid in 
religious, as in money, matters ; he was a stern supervisor and cen- 
surer of his neighbors, and seemed to think every sin entered up 
to their account became a credit on his own side of the page. 
He even talked of the expediency of reviving the persecution of 
Quakers and Anabaptists. In a word, Tom's zeal became as no- 
torious as his riches. 

1 " Squeezed closer and closer," i.e., oppressed more and more. 

2 " Hand over hand," i.e., at a rapid rate. 

3 " Exalted his cocked hat," i.e., held up his head, and became a promi- 
nent personage. 

4 Towards Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem ; hence, towards heaven. 



358 WASHIXGTON IRVING. 

Still, in spite of all this strenuous attention to forms, Tom had 
a lurking dread that the devil, after all, would have his due. That 
he might not be taken unawares, therefore, it is said he always 
carried a small Bible in his coat pocket. He had also a great 
foKo Bible on his countinghouse desk, and would frequently be 
found reading it when people called on business. On such oc- 
casions he would lay his green spectacles in the book, to mark 
the place, while he turned round to drive some usurious bar- 
gain. 

Some say that Tom grew a little crack-brained in his old days, 
and that, fancpng his end approaching, he had his horse new 
shod, saddled, and bridled, and buried with his feet uppermost, 
because he supposed that at the last day the world would be 
turned upside down, in which case he should find his horse stand- 
ing ready for mounting, and he was determined at the worst to 
give his old friend a run for it. This, however, is probably a 
mere old wives' fable. If he really did take such a precaution 
it was totally superfluous ; at least, so says the authentic old leg- 
end, which closes his story in the following manner. 

One hot summer afternoon in the dog days, just as a terrible, 
black thunder gust was coming up, Tom sat in his counting- 
house, in his white hnen cap and India silk morning gown. He 
was on the point of foreclosing a mortgage, by which he would 
complete the ruin of an unlucky land speculator for whom he had 
professed the greatest friendship. The poor land jobber begged 
him to grant a few months' indulgence. Tom had grown testy 
and irritated, and refiised another day. 

" My family will be ruined and brought upon the parish," said 
the land jobber. 

" Charity begins at home," replied Tom ; " I must take care of 
myself in these hard times." 

" You have made so much money out of me," said the specu- 
lator. 

Tom lost his patience and his piety. " The devil take me," 
said he, " if I have made a farthing." 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 359 

Just then t lere were three loud knocks at the street door. He 
stepped out to see who was there. A black man was holding 
a black horse, which neighed and stamped with impatience. 

" Tom, you'/e come for," said the black fellow gruffly. Tom 
shrank back, but too late. He had left his little Bible at the bot- 
tom of his coat pocket, and his big Bible on the desk buried under 
the mortgage he was about to foreclose ; never was sinner taken 
more unawares. The black man whisked him like a child into 
the saddle, gave the horse a lash, and away he galloped, with 
Tom on his back, in the midst of the thunderstorm. The clerks 
stuck their pens behind their ears, and stared after him from the 
windows. Away went Tom Walker, dashing down the streets, 
his white cap bobbing up and down, his morning gown fluttering 
in the wind, and his steed striking fire out of the pavement at 
every bound. When the clerks turned to look for the black man 
he had disappeared. 

Tom Walker never returned to foreclose the mortgage. A coun- 
tryman, who lived on the border of the swamp, reported that in 
the height of the thunder gust he had heard a great clattering of 
hoofs and a howling along the road, and running to the window 
caught sight of a figure such as I have described, on a horse that 
galloped like mad across the fields, over the hills, and down into 
the black hemlock swamp towards the old Indian fort, and that 
shortly after, a thunderbolt falling in that direction seemed to 
set the whole forest in a blaze. 

The good people of Boston shook their heads and shrugged 
their shoulders, but had been so much accustomed to witches 
and goblins, and tricks of the devil, in all kinds of shapes, from 
the first settlement of the colony, that they were not so much 
horror-struck as might have been expected. Trustees were ap- 
pointed to take charge of Tom's effects. There was nothing, 
however, to administer upon. On searching his coffers, all his 
bonds and mortgages were found reduced to cinders. In place 
of gold and silver his iron chest was filled with chips and shav- 
ings ; two skeletons lay in his stable instead of his half starved 



360 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

horses ; and the very next day his great house took fire and was 
burned to the ground. 

Such was the end of Tom Walker and his ill-^,otten weaUh. 
Let all griping money brokers lay this story to heart. The truth of 
it is not to be doubted. The very hole under the oak trees, whence 
he dug Kidd's money, is to be seen to this day, and the neigh- 
boring swamp and old Indian fort are often haunted in stormy 
nights by a figure on horseback, in morning gown and white cap, 
which is doubtless the troubled spirit of the usurer. In fact, the 
story has resolved itself into a proverb, and is the origin of that 
popular saying, so prevalent throughout New England, of " the 
devil and Tom Walker." ^ 

Such, as nearly as I can recollect, was the purport of the tale 
told by the Cape Cod whaler. There were divers trivial particu- 
lars which I have omitted, and which whiled away the morning 
very pleasantly, until, the time of tide favorable to fishing being 
passed, it was proposed to land and refresh ourselves under the 
trees, till the noontide heat should have abated. 

We accordingly landed on a delectable part of the island of 
Manhatta, in that shady and embowered tract formerly under the 
domain of the ancient family of the Hardenbrooks.- It was a 
spot well known to me in the course of the aquatic expeditions 
of my boyhood. Not far from where we landed there was an 
old Dutch family vault, constructed in the side of a bank, which 
had been an object of great awe and fable among my schoolboy 
associates. We had peeped into it during one of our coasting 
voyages, and been startled by the sight of moldering coffins and- 
musty bones within ; but what had given it the most fearful in- 
terest in our eyes was its being in some way connected with the 
pirate wreck which lay rotting among the rocks of Hell Gate. 
There were stories, also, of smuggling connected with it, particu- 

1 An old proverb used as a caution to usurers. 

2 Hardenbrook, or Harden Broeck, was the name of an early Dutch settler 
who accompanied Van Kortlandt in his explorations up the East River. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 361 

larly relating to a time when this retired spot was owned by a 
noted burgher called " Ready- Money Provost," a man of whom it 
was whispered that he had many mysterious dealings with parts 
beyond the seas. All these things, however, had been jumbled 
together in our minds in that vague way in which such themes 
are mingled up in the tales of boyhood. 

While I was pondering upon these matters my companions had 
spread a repast, from the contents of our well stored pannier, un- 
der a broad chestnut, on the greensward which swept down to 
the water's edge. Here we solaced ourselves on the cool, grassy 
carpet during the warm, sunny hours of midday. While lolling 
on the grass, indulging in that kind of musing reverie of which I 
am fond, I summoned up the dusky recollections of my boyhood 
respecting this place, and repeated them like the imperfectly re- 
membered traces of a dream, for the amusement of my com- 
panions. When I had finished, a worthy old burgher, John Josse 
Vandermoere, the same who once related to me the adventures 
of Dolph Heyliger,^ broke silence, and observed that he recol- 
lected a story of money digging which occurred in this very 
neighborhood, and might account for some of the traditions 
which I had heard in my boyhood. As we knew him to be one 
of the most authentic narrators in the province we begged him 
to let us have the particulars, and accordingly, while we solaced 
ourselves with a clean, long pipe of Blase Moore's best tobacco, 
the authentic John Josse Vandermoere related the following tale. 



WOLFERT WEBBER, OR GOLDEN DREAMS. 

IN the year of grace one thousand seven hundred and — blank 
— for I do not remember the precise date ; however, it was 
somewhere in the early part of the last century, — there lived in the 
ancient city of the Manhattoes a worthy burgher, Wolfert Webber 

• 1 A tale in Irving's Bracebridge Hall. 



362 WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. 

by name. He was descended from old Cobus Webber of the 
Brill ^ in Holland, one of the original settlers, famous for intro- 
ducing the cultivation of cabbages, and who came over to the prov- 
ince during the protectorship of Oloffe Van Kortlandt,- otherwise 
called "the Dreamer." 

The field in which Cobus Webber first planted himself and his 
cabbages had remained ever since in the family, who continued 
in the same line of husbandry with that praiseworthy persever- 
ance for wliich our Dutch burghers are noted. The whole fam- 
ily genius, during several generations, was devoted to the study 
and development of this one noble vegetable, and to this con- 
centration of intellect may doubtless be ascribed the prodigious 
renown to which the Webber cabbages attained. 

The Webber d^masty continued in uninterrupted succession, and 
never did a line give more unquestionable proofs of legitimacy. 
The eldest son succeeded to the looks as well as the territory 
of his sire, and had the portraits of this line of tranquil potentates 
been taken, they would have presented a row of heads marvelously 
resembling, in shape and magnitude, the vegetables over which 
they reigned. 

The seat of government continued unchanged in the family 
mansion, — a Dutch-built house, with a front, or rather gable 
end, of yellow brick, tapering to a point, with the customary iron 
weathercock at the top. Even-thing about the building bore the 
air of long-settled ease and security. Flights of martins peopled 
the little coops nailed against its walls, and swallows built their 
nests under the eaves, and every one knows that these house- 
loving birds bring good luck to the dwelling where they take up 
their abode.' In a bright summer morning in early summer, it 
was delectable to hear their cheerful notes as they sported about 
in the pure, sweet air, chirping forth, as it were, the greatness and 
prosperity of the Webbers. 

1 The Brill is a fortified seaport of Holland, on the Meuse River, near 
Rotterdam. 

2 See Note i, p. 336. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 363 

Thus quietly and comfortably did this excellent family vege- 
tate under the shade of a mighty buttonwood tree, which by lit- 
tle and little grew so great as entirel}' to overshadow their palace. 
The city gradually spread its suburbs round their domain. Houses 
sprang up to interrupt their prospects. The rural lanes in the 
vicinity began to grow into the bustle and populousness of streets ; 
in short, with all the habits of rustic life they began to find them- 
selves the inhabitants of a city. Still, however, they maintained 
their hereditary character and hereditary possessions, with all 
the tenacity of petty German princes in the midst of the empire. 
Wolfert was the last of the line, and succeeded to the patriarchal 
bench at the door, under the family tree, and swayed the scepter 
of his fathers, — a kind of rural potentate in the midst of the 
metropolis. 

To share the cares and sweets of sovereignty he had taken un- 
to himself a helpmate, one of that excellent kind called " stirring 
women ;" that is to say, she was one of those notable little house- 
wives who are always busy where there is nothing to do. Her 
activity, however, took one particular direction, — her whole hfe 
seemed devoted to intense knitting ; w^hether at home or abroad, 
walking or sitting, her needles were continually in motion, and 
it is even affirmed that by her unwearied industry she very nearly 
supplied her household with stockings throughout the year. This 
worthy couple were blessed with one daughter, who was brought 
up with great tenderness and care ; uncommon pains had been 
taken with her education, so that she could stitch in every variety 
of way, make all kinds of pickles and preser\'es, and mark her 
own name on a sampler. The influence of her taste was seen 
also in the family garden, where the ornamental began to mingle 
with the useful ; whole rows of fiery marigolds and splendid holly- 
hocks bordered the cabbage beds, and gigantic sunflowers lolled 
their broad, jolly faces over the fences, seeming to ogle most affec- 
tionately the passers-by. 

Thus reigned and vegetated Wolfert Webber over his paternal 
acres, peacefully and contentedly. Not but that, like all other 



364 IVASHINGTOX IRVING. 

sovereigns, he had his occasional cares and vexations. The 
growth of his native city sometimes caused him annoyance. 
His Httle territory gradually became hemmed in by streets and 
houses, which intercepted air and sunshine. He was now and 
then subjected to the in-uptions of the border population that in- 
fest the streets of a metropolis, who would make midnight foravs 
into his dominions, and carry off captive whole platoons of his 
noblest subjects. Vagrant swine would make a descent, too, now 
and then, when the gate was left open, and lay all waste before 
them ; and mischievous urchins would decapitate the illustrious 
sunflowers, the glory of the garden, as they lolled their heads 
so fondly over the walls. Still all these were petty grievances, 
which might now and then ruffle the surface of his mind, as a 
summer breeze will ruffle the surface of a mill pond, but they could 
not disturb the deep-seated quiet of his soul. He would but 
seize a trusty staff that stood behind the door, issue suddenly 
out, and anoint the back of the aggressor, whether pig or urchin, 
and then return within doors, marvelously refreshed and tran- 
quihzed. 

The chief cause of anxiety to honest "Wolfert, however, was 
the growing prosperity of the city. The expenses of living dou- 
bled and trebled, but he could not double and treble the magni- 
tude of his cabbages, and the number of competitors prevented 
the increase of price ; thus, therefore, while every one around him 
grew richer, Wolfert grew poorer, and he could not, for the life 
of him, perceive how the evil was to be remedied. 

This growing care, which increased from day to day, had its 
gradual effect upon our worthy burgher, insomuch that it at 
length implanted two or three wrinkles in his brow, things un- 
known before in the family of the Webbers, and it seemed to 
pinch up the comers of his cocked hat into an expression of 
anxiety totally opposite to the tranquil, broad-brimmed, low- 
crowned beavers of his illustrious progenitors. 

Perhaps even this would not have materially disturbed the 
serenity of his mind had he had only himself and his \\afe to 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 365 

care for ; but there was his daughter gradually growing to matu- 
rity, and all the world knows that when daughters begin to ripen, 
no fruit nor flower requires so much looking after. I have no 
talent at describing female charms, else fain would I depict the 
progress of this little Dutch beauty : how her blue eyes grew 
deeper and deeper, and her cherry lips redder and redder, and 
how she ripened and ripened, and rounded and rounded, in the 
opening breath of sixteen summers, until, in her seventeenth 
spring, she seemed ready to burst out of her bodice, like a half- 
blown rosebud. 

Ah, well-a-day ! Could I but show her as she was then, 
tricked out on a Sunday morning in the hereditary finery of the 
old Dutch clothespress, of which her mother had confided to 
her the key ! The wedding dress of her grandmother, modern- 
ized for use, with sundry ornaments, handed down as heirlooms 
in the family. Her pale brown hair smoothed with buttermilk 
in flat, waving lines on each side of her fair forehead. The chain 
of yellow, virgin gold that encircled her neck; the little cross 
that just rested at the entrance of a soft valley of happiness, as 
if it would sanctify the place. The — but pooh ! it is not for 
an old man like me to be prosing about female beauty; suffice 
it to say, Amy had attained her seventeenth year. Long since 
had her sampler exhibited hearts in couples desperately transfixed 
with arrows, and true lovers' knots worked in deep blue silk, and 
it was evident she began to languish for some more interesting 
occupation than the rearing of sunflowers or pickling of cucum- 
bers. 

At this critical period of female existence, when the heart 
within a damsel's bosom, like its emblem, the miniature which 
hangs without, is apt to be engrossed by a single image, a new 
visitor began to make his appearance under the roof of Wolfert 
Webber. This was Dirk Waldron, the only son of a poor widow, 
but who could boast of more fathers than any lad in the prov- 
ince, for his mother had had four husbands, and this only child, 
so that, though born in her last wedlock, he might fairly claim to 



366 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

be the tardy fruit of a long course of cultivation. This son of 
four fathers united the merits and the vigor of all his sires. If 
he had not had a great family before him he seemed likely to 
have a great one after him, for you had only to look at the fresh, 
buxom youth to see that he was formed to be the founder of a 
mighty race. 

This youngster gradually became an intimate visitor of the 
family. He talked little, but he sat long. He filled the fathef's 
pipe when it was empty, gathered up the mother's knitting needle, 
or ball of worsted, when it fell to the ground, stroked the sleek 
coat of the tortoise-shell cat, and replenished the teapot for the 
daughter from the bright copper kettle that sang before the fire. 
All these quiet httle offices may seem of trifling import, but when 
true love is translated into Low Dutch it is in this way that it 
eloquently expresses itself. They were not lost upon the Web- 
ber family. The winning youngster found marvelous favor in 
the eyes of the mother ; the tortoise-shell cat, albeit the most 
staid and demure of her kind, gave indubitable signs of approba- 
tion of his visits ; the teakettle seemed to sing out a cheering 
note of welcome at his approach ; and if the sly glances of the 
daughter mxight be rightly read, as she sat bridling and dimpling, 
and sewing by her mother's side, she was not a whit behind Dame 
Webber, or grimalkin, or the teakettle, in good will. 

Wolfert alone saw nothing of what was going on. Profoundly 
wrapt up in meditation on the growth of the city and his cab- 
bages, he sat looking in the fire, and puffing his pipe in silence. 
One night, however, as the gentle Amy, according to custom, 
lighted her lover to the outer door, and he, according to custom, 
took his parting salute, the smack resounded so vigorously through 
the long, silent entry as to startle even the dull ear of W^olfert. 
He was slowly roused to a new source of anxiety. It had never 
entered into his head that this mere child, who, as it seemed, but 
the other day had been climbing about his knees and playing 
with dolls and babyhouses, could all at once be thinking of lovers 
and matrimony. He rubbed his eyes, examined into the fact, 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 367 

and really found that while he had been dreaming of other mat- 
ters, she had actually grown to be a woman, and, what was worse, 
had fallen in love. Here arose new cares for Wolfert. He was 
a kind father, but he was a prudent man. The young man was 
a lively, stirring lad, but then he had neither money nor land. 
Wolfert's ideas all ran in one channel, and he saw no alternative 
in case of a marriage but to portion off the young couple with 
a .corner of his cabbage garden, the whole of which was barely 
sufficient for the support of his family. 

Like a prudent father, therefore, he determined to nip this 
passion in the bud, and forbade the youngster the house, though 
sorely did it go against his fatherly heart, and many a silent tear 
did it cause in the bright eye of his daughter. She showed her- 
self, however, a pattern of iihal piety and obedience. She never 
pouted and sulked ; she never flew in the face of parental author- 
ity ; she never flew into a passion, nor fell into hysterics, as many 
romantic, novel-read young ladies would do. Not she, indeed. 
She was none such heroical, rebellious trumpery, I'll warrant ye. 
On the contrary, she acquiesced hke an obedient daughter, shut 
the street door in her lover's face, and if ever she did grant him 
an interview, it was either out of the kitchen window or over the 
garden fence. 

Wolfert was deeply cogitating these matters in his mind, and 
his brow wrinkled with unusual care, as he wended his way one 
Saturday afternoon to a rural inn, about two miles from the city. 
It was a favorite resort of the Dutch part of the community, 
from being always held by a Dutch line of landlords, and retain- 
ing an air and relish of the good old times. It was a Dutch- 
built house, that had probably been a country seat of some opu- 
lent burgher in the early time of the settlement. It stood near 
a point of land called Corlear's Hook,i which stretches out into 
the Sound, and against which the tide, at its flux and reflux, sets 
with extraordinary rapidity. The venerable and somewhat crazy 

1 A point of land at the bend of the East River below Grand Street, New 
York City. 



S^S WASHIXGTOy IRVIXG. 



o 



mansion was distinguished from afar by a grove of elms and 
sycamores that seemed to wave a hospitable invitation, while a 
few weeping willows, with their dank, drooping fohage, resem- 
bling faUing waters, gave an idea of coolness that rendered it an 
attractive spot during the heats of summer. 

Here, therefore, as I said, resorted many of the old inhabitants 
of the Manhattoes, where, while some played at shuffleboard^ 
and quoits,- and ninepins, others smoked a dehberate pipe, and 
talked over pubhc affairs. 

It was on a blustering autumnal afternoon that Wolfert made 
his visit to the inn. The grove of elms and willows was stripped 
of its leaves, which whirled in rusthng eddies about the fields. 
The ninepin alley was deserted, for the premature chilliness of the 
day had driven the company within doors. As it was Saturday 
afternoon the habitual club was in session, composed principal- 
ly of regular Dutch burghers, though mingled occasionally with 
persons of various character and country, as is natural in a place 
of such motley population. 

Beside the fireplace, in a huge, leather-bottomed armchair, sat 
the dictator of this Httle world, the venerable Rem, or, as it was 
pronounced, " Ramm " Rapelye. He was a man of Walloon ^ race, 
and illustrious for the antiquity of his Hne, his great grandmother 
having been the first white child bom in the province. But he 
was still more illustrious for his wealth and dignity. He had 
long filled the noble office of alderman, and was a man to whom 
the governor himself took off his hat. He had maintained pos- 
session of the leather-bottomed chair from time immemorial, and 
had gradually waxed in bulk as he sat in his seat of government, 

1 A game played by pushing or shaking pieces of money or metal so as to 
make them reach certain marks on a board. 

2 A game played by pitching a flattened, ring-shaped piece of iron, called 
a quoit, at a fixed object. 

3 A people of French origin, inhabiting the frontiers between France and 
Flanders. A colony of one hundred and ten Walloons came to New York 
in 1624. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 369 

until in the course of years he filled its whole magnitude. His 
word was decisive with his subjects, for he was so rich a man 
that he was never expected to support any opinion by argument. 
The landlord waited on him with peculiar officiousness, — not that 
he paid better than his neighbors, but then the coin of a rich 
man seems always to be so much more acceptable. The land- 
lord had ever a pleasant word and a joke to insinuate in the ear 
of the august Ramm. It is true Ramm never laughed, and, in- 
deed, ever maintained a mastiff-like gravity and even surliness of 
aspect ; yet he now and then rewarded mine host with a token of 
approbation, which, though nothing more nor less than a kind of 
grunt, still delighted the landlord more than a broad laugh from 
a poorer man. 

" This will be a rough night for the money diggers," said mine 
host, as a gust of wind howled round the house and rattled at 
the windows. 

" What ! are they at their works again ? " said an English half- 
pay captain, with one eye, who was a very frequent attendant at 
the inn. 

" Ay are they," said the landlord, " and well may they be. 
They've had luck of late. They say a great pot of money has 
been dug up in the fields just behind Stuyvesant's orchard. Folks 
think it must have been buried there in old times by Peter Stuy- 
vesant, the Dutch governor." 

" Fudge ! " said the one-eyed man of war, as he added a small 
portion of water to a bottom of brandy. 

" Well, you may believe it or not, as you please," said mine 
host, somewhat nettled, "but everybody knows that the old gov- 
ernor buried a great deal of his money at the time of the Dutch 
troubles, when the English redcoats seized on the province. 
They say, too, the old gentleman walks, ay, and in the very 
same dress that he wears in the picture that hangs up in the 
family house." 

" Fudge ! " said the half-pay officer. 

" Fudge, if you please ! But didn't Corney Van Zandt see 
24 



31 o WASHINGTON IRVING. 

him at midnight, stalking about in the meadow with his wooden 
leg, and a drawn sword in his hand, that flashed hke fire ? And 
what can he be walking for but because people have been trou- 
bling the place where he buried his money in old times ? " 

Here the landlord was interrupted by several guttural sounds 
from Ramm Rapelye, betokening that he was laboring with the 
unusual production of an idea. As he was too great a man to be 
slighted by a prudent publican, mine host respectfully paused until 
he should deliver himself. The corpulent frame of this mighty 
burgher now gave all the symptoms of a volcanic mountain on 
the point of an eruption. First there was a certain heaving of 
the abdomen, not unlike an earthquake ; then was emitted a cloud 
of tobacco smoke from that crater, his mouth ; then there was a 
kind of rattle in the throat, as if the idea were working its way 
up through a region of phlegm ; then there were several dis- 
jointed members of a sentence thrown out, ending in a cough ; 
at length his voice forced its way into a slow, but absolute tone 
of a man who feels the weight of his purse, if not of his ideas, 
every portion of his speech being marked by a testy puff of 
tobacco smoke. 

" Who talks of old Peter Stuyvesant's walking ? (puff). Have 
people no respect for persons ? (puff — puff). Peter Stuyvesant 
knew better what to do with his money than to bury it (puff). 
I know the Stuyvesant family (puff), every one of them (puff) ; 
not a more respectable family in the province (puff) — old 
standards (puff) — warm householders (puff) — none of your up- 
starts (puff — puff — puff). Don't talk to me of Peter Stuyve- 
sant's walking (puff — puff — puff — puff)." 

Here the redoubtable Ramm contracted his brow, clasped up 
his mouth till it wrinkled at each corner, and redoubled his smok- 
ing with such vehemence that the cloudy volumes soon wreathed 
round his head, as the smoke envelops the awful summit of 
Mount ^tna. 

A general silence followed the sudden rebuke of this very rich 
man. The subject, however, was too interesting to be readily 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 371 

abandoned. The conversation soon broke forth again from the 
lips of Peechy Prauw Van Hook, the chronicler of the club, one 
of those'prosing, narrative old men who seem to be troubled with 
an incontinence of words as they grow old. 

Peechy could, at any time, tell as many stories in an evening 
as his hearers could digest in a month. He now resumed the 
conversation by affirming that, to his knowledge, money had, 
at different times, been digged up in various parts of the island. 
The lucky persons who had discovered them had always dreamed 
of them three times beforehand, and, what was worthy of remark, 
those treasures had never been found but by some descendant of 
the good old Dutch families, which clearly proved that they had 
been buried by Dutchmen in the olden time. 

" Fiddlestick with your Dutchmen ! " cried the half-pay officer. 
" The Dutch had nothing to do with them. They were all buried 
by Kidd the pirate, and his crew." 

Here a keynote was touched that roused the whole company. 
The name of Captain Kidd was like a talisman in those times, 
and was associated with a thousand marvelous stories. 

The half-pay officer took the lead, and in his narrations 
fathered upon Kidd all the plunderings and exploits of Morgan,^ 
Blackbeard,^ and the whole hst of bloody buccaneers. 

The officer was a man of great weight among the peaceable 
members of the club, by reason of his warlike character and gun- 
powder tales. All his golden stories of Kidd, however, and of 
the booty he had buried, were obstinately rivaled by the tales of 
Peechy Prauw, Avho, rather than suffer his Dutch progenitors to 
be eclipsed by a foreign freebooter, enriched every field and shore 

1 Sir Henry Morgan (1637-90), a noted Welsh buccaneer. He was cap- 
tured and sent to England for trial, but Charles II., instead of punishing him, 
knighted him, and subsequently appointed him governor of Jamaica. 

2 Edward Teach, one of the most cruel of the pirates, took command of a 
pirate ship in 171 7, and thereafter committed all sorts of atrocities until he 
was slain by Lieutenant Maynard in 1 718. His nickname of " Blackbeard " 
was given him because of his black beard. 



372 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

in the neighborhood with the hidden wealth of Peter Stuyvesant 
and his contemporaries. 

Not a word of this conversation was lost upon Wolfert Web- 
ber. He returned pensively home, full of magnificent ideas. The 
soil of his native island seemed to be turned into gold dust, and 
every field to teem with treasure. His head almost reeled at 
the thought how often he must have heedlessly rambled over 
places where countless sums lay, scarcely covered by the turf 
beneath his feet. His mind was in an uproar with this whirl of 
new ideas. As he came in sight of the venerable mansion of his 
forefathers, and the little realm where the Webbers had so long 
and so contentedly flourished, his gorge rose at the narrowness 
of his destiny. 

" Unlucky Wolfert ! ''' exclaimed he ; " others can go to bed 
and dream themselves into whole mines of wealth ; they have 
but to seize a spade in the morning, and turn up doubloons ^ like 
potatoes ; but thou must dream of hardships, and rise to poverty, 
must dig thy field from year's end to year's end, and yet raise 
nothing but cabbages ! " 

Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart, and it was 
long before the golden visions that disturbed his brain permitted 
him to sink into repose. The same visions, however, extended 
into his sleeping thoughts, and assumed a more definite form. 
He dreamed that he had discovered an immense treasure in the 
center of his garden. At every stroke of the spade he laid bare 
a golden ingot ; diamond crosses sparkled out of the dust ; bags 
of money turned up their bellies, corpulent with pieces-of-eight ^ 
or venerable doubloons ; and chests wedged close with moidores,^ 
ducats,* and pistareens,^ yawned before his ravished eyes, and 
vomited forth their ghttering contents. 

1 Spanish gold coins, equivalent to $15.60. 

2 Spanish coins, worth about $i each. 

* Portuguese gold coins, valued at $6.50. 

* Coins of gold and silver, valued at $2 and $1 respectively. 
5 Spanish silver coins, worth about $.20. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 373 

Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He had no heart to 
go about his daily concerns, which appeared so pakry and profit- 
less, but sat all day long in the chimney corner, picturing to 
himself ingots and heaps of gold in the fire. The next night his 
dream was repeated. He was again in his garden digging, and 
laying open stores of hidden wealth. There was something very 
singular in this repetition. He passed another day of reverie, 
and though it was cleaning day, and the house, as usual in 
Dutch households, completely topsy-turvy, yet he sat unmoved 
amidst the general uproar. 

The third night he went to bed with a palpitating heart. He 
put on his red nightcap wrong side outwards, for good luck. It 
was deep midnight before his anxious mind could settle itself into 
sleep. Again the golden dream was repeated, and again he saw 
his garden teeming with ingots and money bags. 

Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewilderment. A 
dream, three times repeated, was never known to lie, and if so, 
his fortune was made. 

In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the hind part be- 
fore, and this was a corroboration of good luck.^ He no longer 
doubted that a huge store of money lay buried somewhere in his 
cabbage field, coyly waiting to be sought for, and he repined at 
having so long been scratching about the surface of the soil in- 
stead of digging to the center. 

He took his seat at the breakfast table, full of these specula- 
tions, asked his daughter to put a lump of gold into his tea, and 
on handing his wife a plate of slapjacks, begged her to help her- 
self to a doubloon. 

His grand care now was how to secure this immense treasure 
without its being known. Instead of his working regularly in 
his grounds in the daytime, he now stole from his bed at night, 
and with spade and pickax went to work to rip up and dig about 



1 It is an old superstition that to put on one's clothes wrong side out fore- 
bodes good luck. » 



374 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

his paternal acres, from one end to the other. In a Httle time 
the whole garden, which had presented such a goodly and regu- 
lar appearance, with its phalanx of cabbages, like a vegetable army 
in battle array, was reduced to a scene of devastation, while the 
relentless Wolfert, with nightcap on head and lantern and spade 
in hand, stalked through the slaughtered ranks, the destroying 
angel of his own vegetable world. 

Every morning bore testimony to the ravages of the preceding 
night in cabbages of all ages and conditions, from the tender 
sprout to the full-grown head, piteously rooted from their quiet 
beds like worthless weeds, and left to wither in the sunshine. In 
vain Wolfert's wife remonstrated ; in vain his darling daughter 
wept over the destruction of some favorite marigold. " Thou 
shall have gold of another-guess ^ sort," he would cry, chucking 
her under the chin ; " thou shalt have a string of crooked ducats 
for thy wedding necklace, my child." His family began really 
to fear that the poor man's wits were diseased. He muttered in 
his sleep at night about mines of wealth, about pearls and dia- 
monds, and bars of gold. In the daytime he was moody and 
abstracted, and walked about as if in a trance. Dame Webber 
held frequent councils with all the old women of the neighbor- 
hood ; scarce an hour in the day but a knot of them might be 
seen wagging their white caps together round her door, while 
the poor woman made some piteous recital. The daughter, too, 
was fain to seek for more frequent consolation from the stolen 
interviews of her favored swain, Dirk Waldron. The delectable 
little Dutch songs with which she used to dulcify the house 
grew less and less frequent, and she would forget her sewing, and 
look wistfully in her father's face as he sat pondering by the fire- 
side. Wolfert caught her eye one day fixed on him thus anxiously, 
and for a moment was roused from his golden reveries. " Cheer 
up, my girl," said he exultingly ; ** why dost thou droop ? Thou 

1 A corruption of the old expression " another-gates," or "of another 
gate," meaning" of another way or manner; " hence,," of another kind." 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 375 

shalt hold up thy head one day with the Brinckerhoffs, and 
the Schermerhorns, the Van Homes, and the Van Dams.^ By 
St. Nicholas, but the patroon - himself shall be glad to get thee 
for his son!" 

Amy shook her head at his vainglorious boast, and was more 
than ever in doubt of the soundness of the good man's intellect. 

In the mean time Wolfert went on digging and digging ; but 
the field was extensive, and as his dream had indicated no pre- 
cise spot, he had to dig at random. The winter set in before 
one tenth of the scene of promise had been explored. 

The ground became frozen hard, and the nights too cold for 
the labors of the spade. 

No sooner, however, did the returning warmth of spring loosen 
the soil, and the small frogs begin to pipe in the meadows, but 
Wolfert resumed his labors with renovated zeal. Still, however, 
the hours of industry were reversed. 

Instead of working cheerily all day, planting and setting out 
his vegetables, he remained thoughtfully idle, until the shades of 
night summoned him to his secret labors. In this way he con- 
tinued to dig from night to night, and week to week, and month 
to month, but not a stiver^ did he find. On the contrary, the 
more he digged the poorer he grew. The rich soil of his gar- 
den was digged away, and the sand and gravel from beneath was 
thrown to the surface, until the whole field presented an aspect 
of sandy barrenness. 

In the mean time, the seasons gradually rolled on. The little 
frogs which had piped in the meadows in early spring croaked 
as bullfrogs during the summer heats, and then sank into silence. 

1 Names of rich and influential Dutch families in the old Dutch colony of 
New Amsterdam. 

2 The patroons were members of the Dutch West India Company, who 
purchased land in New Netherlands of the Indians, and after fulfilling certain 
conditions imposed with a view to colonizing their territory, enjoyed feudal 
rights similar to those of the barons of the middle ages. 

3 A Dutch coin, worth about two cents ; hence, anything of little worth. 



37^ WASHINGTON IRVING. 

The peach tree budded, blossomed, and bore its fruit. The 
swallows and martins came, twittered about the roof, built their 
nests, reared their young, held their congress along the eaves, 
and then winged their flight in search of another spring. The 
caterpillar spun its winding sheet, dangled in it from the great 
buttonwood tree before the house, turned into a moth, fluttered 
with the last sunshine of summer, and disappeared ; and finally 
the leaves of the buttonwood tree turned yellow, then brown, 
then rustled one by one to the ground, and whirling about in 
little eddies of wind and dust, whispered that winter was at 
hand. 

Wolfert gradually woke from his dream of wealth as the year 
declined. He had reared no crop for the supply of his house- 
hold during the sterility of winter. The season was long and 
severe, and for the first time the family was really straitened in 
its comforts. By degrees a revulsion of thought took place in 
Wolfert's mind, common to those whose golden dreams have 
been disturbed by pinching realities. The idea gradually stole 
upon him that he should come to want. He already considered 
himself one of the most unfortunate men in the pro^•ince, having 
lost such an incalculable amount of undiscovered treasure, and 
now, when thousands of pounds had eluded his search, to be 
perplexed for shillings and pence was cruel in the extreme. 

Haggard care gathered about his brow ; he went about with a 
money-seeking air, his eyes bent downwards into the dust, and 
carrying his hands in his pockets, as men are apt to do when they 
have nothing else to put into them. He could not even pass the 
city almshouse without giving it a rueful glance, as if destined 
to be his future abode. 

The strangeness of his conduct and of his looks occasioned 
much speculation and remark. For a long time he was suspected 
of being crazy, and then ever^^body pitied him ; and at length it 
began to be suspected that he was poor, and then everybody 
avoided him. 

The rich old burghers of his acquaintance met him outside 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 377 

of the door when he called, entertained him hospitably on the 
threshold, pressed him warmly by the hand at parting, shook 
their heads as he walked away, with the kind-hearted expression 
of "poor Wolfert," and turned a corner nimbly if by chance they 
saw him approaching as they walked the streets. Even the bar- 
ber and the cobbler of the neighborhood, and a tattered tailor in 
an alley hard by, three of the poorest and merriest rogues in the 
world, eyed him with that abundant sympathy which usually at- 
tends a lack of means, and there is not a doubt but their pockets 
would have been at his command, only that they happened to be 
empty. 

Thus everybody deserted the Webber mansion, as if poverty 
were contagious, like the plague — everybody but honest Dirk 
Waldron, who still kept up his stolen visits to the daughter, and 
indeed seemed to wax more affectionate as the fortunes of his 
mistress were on the wane. 

Many months had elapsed since Wolfert had frequented his old 
resort, the rural inn. He was taking a long, lonely walk one Satur- 
day afternoon, musing over his wants and disappointments, when 
his feet took instinctively their wonted direction, and on awak- 
ing out of a reverie, he found himself before the door of the inn. 
For some moments he hesitated whether to enter, but his heart 
yearned for companionsliip, and where can a ruined man find 
better companionship than at a tavern, where there is neither 
sober example nor sober advice to put him out of countenance ? 

Wolfert found several of the old frequenters of the inn at their 
usual posts and seated in their usual places ; but one was missing, 
the great Ramm Rapelye, who for many years had filled the 
leather-bottomed chair of state. His place was supplied by a 
stranger, who seemed, however, completely at home in the chair 
and the tavern. He was rather under size, but deep-chested, 
square, and muscular. His broad shoulders, double joints, and 
bow knees gave tokens of prodigious strength. His face was 
dark and weather-beaten ; a deep scar, as if from the slash of a 
cutlass, had almost divided his nose, and made a gash in his 



37^ WASHIXGTON IRVIXG. 

upper lip, through which his teeth shone like a bulldog's. A 
mop of iron gray hair gave a grisly finish to this hard-favored 
visage. His dress was of an amphibious character. He wore 
an old hat edged with tarnished lace, and cocked in martial 
style on one side of his head ; a rusty ^ blue mihtary coat with 
brass buttons; and a wide pair of short petticoat trousers, — or 
rather breeches, for they were gathered up at the knees. He 
ordered everybody about him with an authoritative air, talking in 
a brattling •voice that sounded like the crackling of thorns under 
a pot, d — d the landlord and servants with perfect impunity, 
and was waited upon with greater obsequiousness than had ever 
been shown to the mighty Ramm himself. 

Wolfert's curiosity was awakened to know who and what was 
this stranger who had thus usurped absolute sway in this ancient 
domain. Peechy Prauw took him aside into a remote corner 
of the hall, and there, in an under voice and with great caution, 
imparted to him all that he knew on the subject. The inn had 
been aroused several months before, on a dark, stormy night, b}' 
repeated long shouts that seemed like the howlings of a wolf. 
They came from the water side, and at length were distinguished 
to be hailing the house in the seafaring manner, " House ahoy ! " 
The landlord turned out with his head waiter, tapster, hostler, 
and errand boy — that is to say, with his old negro Cuff. On 
approaching the place whence the voice proceeded, they found 
this amphibious-looking personage at the water's edge, quite 
alone, and seated on a great oaken sea chest. How he came 
there, — whether he had been set on shore from some boat, or had 
floated to land on his chest, — nobody could tell, for he did not 
seem disposed to answer questions, and there was something in 
his looks and manners that put a stop to all questioning. Suffice 
it to say, he took possession of a comer room of the inn, to which 
his chest was removed with great difficulty. Here he had re- 
mained ever since, keeping about the inn and its vicinity. Some- 
times, it is true, he disappeared for one, two, or three days at a 
1 Shabby. 2 Xoisy. 



TALES OF A, TRAVELER. 379 

time, going and returning without giving any notice or account 
of his movements. He always appeared to have plenty of money, 
though often of very strange, outlandish coinage, and he regularly 
paid his bill every evening before turning in. 

He had fitted up his room to his own fancy, having slung a 
hammock from the ceiling instead of a bed, and decorated the 
walls with rusty pistols and cutlasses of foreign workmanship. A 
greater part of his time was passed in this room, seated by the 
window, which commanded a wide view of the Sound, a short, 
old-fashioned pipe in his mouth, a glass of rum toddy ^ at his 
elbow, and a pocket telescope in his hand, with which he recon- 
noitered every boat that moved upon the water. Large square- 
rigged vessels seemed to excite but little attention ; but the mo- 
ment he descried anything with a shoulder-of- mutton ^ sail, or 
that a barge or yawl or jolly-boat hove in sight, up went the 
telescope, and he examined it with the most scrupulous attention. 

All this might have passed without much notice, for in those 
times the province was so much the resort of adventurers of all 
characters and climes that any oddity in dress or behavior at- 
tracted but small attention. In a little while, however, this 
strange sea monster, thus strangely cast upon dry land, began to 
encroach upon the long established customs and customers of 
the place, and to interfere in a dictatorial manner in the affairs 
of the ninepin alley and the barroom, until in the end he usurped 
an absolute command over the whole inn. It was all in vain to 
attempt to withstand his authority. He was not exactly quar- 
relsome, but boisterous and peremptory, Hke one accustomed to 
tyrannize on a quarter-deck ; and there was a dare-devil ^ air 
about everything he said and did that inspired wariness in all 
bystanders. Even the half-pay officer, so long the hero of the 
club, was soon silenced by him, and the quiet burghers stared 
with wonder at seeing their inflammable man of war so readily 
and quietly extinguished. 

1 A mixture of rum and hot water sweetened. 

2 Triangular. 3 Reckless. 



380 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

And then the tales that he would tell were enough to make a 
peaceable man's hair stand on end. There was not a sea fight, 
nor marauding nor freebooting adventure that had happened 
within the last twenty years, but he seemed perfectly versed in 
it. He dehghted to talk of the exploits of the buccaneers in 
the West Indies and on the Spanish jMain.i How his eyes would 
glisten as he described the w^aylaying of treasure ships ; the des- 
perate fights, yardarm and yardarm,^ broadside and broadside ;3 
the boarding and capturing huge Spanish galleons ! With what 
chuckling relish would he describe the descent upon some rich 
Spanish colony, the rifling of a church, the sacking of a convent ! 
You would have thought you heard some gormandizer dilating 
upon the roasting of a savory goose at Michaelmas,^ as he de- 
scribed the roasting of some Spanish don to make him discover 
his treasure, — a detail given with a minuteness that made every 
rich old burgher present turn uncomfortably in his chair. All 
this would be told with infinite glee, as if he considered it an 
excellent joke, and then he would give such a tyrannical leer in 
the face of his next neighbor that the poor man would be fain 
to laugh out of sheer faint-heartedness. If any one, however, 
pretended to contradict him in any of his stories, he was on fire 
in an instant. His very cocked hat assumed a momentary fierce- 
ness, and seemed to resent the contradiction, " How the devil 
should you know as well as I ? I tell you it was as I say ; " and 
he would at the same time let slip a broadside of thundering 



^ The coast of the northern part of South America along the Caribbean 
Sea, the route formerly traversed by the Spanish treasure ships between the 
Old and New Worlds. 

2 Ships are said to be yardarm and yardarm when so near as to touch or 
interlock their yards, which are the long pieces of timber designed to support 
and extend the square sails. 

3 " Broadside and broadside," i.e., with the side of one ship touching that 
of another. 

* The Feast of the Archangel Michael, a church festival celebrated on 
Sept. 29. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 381 

oaths ^ and tremendous sea phrases, such as had never been heard 
before within these peaceful walls. 

Indeed, the worthy burghers began to surmise that he knew 
more of those stories than mere hearsay. Day after day their 
conjectures concerning him grew more and more wild and fear- 
ful. The strangeness of his arrival, the strangeness of his man- 
ners, the mystery that surrounded him, — all made him something 
incomprehensible in their eyes. He was a kind of monster of the 
deep to them ; he was a merman, he was a behemoth, he was a 
leviathan, — in short, they knew not what he was. 

The domineering spirit of this boisterous sea tuchin at length 
grew quite intolerable. He was no respecter of persons ; he con- 
tradicted the richest burghers without hesitation ; he took posses- 
sion of the sacred elbowchair, which time out of mind had been 
the seat of sovereignty of the illustrious Ramm Rapelye. Nay, 
he even went so far, in one of his rough, jocular moods, as to slap 
that mighty burgher on the back, drink his toddy, and wink in 
his face, — a thing scarcely to be believed. From this time Ramm 
Rapelye appeared no more at the inn. His example was followed 
by several of the most eminent customers, who were too rich to 
tolerate being bullied out of their opinions or being obliged to 
laugh at another man's jokes. The landlord was almost in de- 
spair ; but he knew not how to get rid of this sea monster and 
his sea chest, who seemed both to have grown like fixtures, or 
excrescences, on his establishment. 

Such was the account whispered cautiously in Wolfert's ear 
by the narrator, Peechy Prauw, as he held him by the button in 
a comer of the hall, casting a wary glance now and then towards 
the door of the barroom, lest he should be overheard by the ter- 
rible hero of his tale. 

Wolfert took his seat in a remote part of the room in silence, 
impressed with profound awe of this unknown, so versed in free- 
hooting history. It was to him a wonderful instance of the revo- 
lutions of mighty empires, to find the venerable Ramm Rapelye 

1 " Broadside of thundering oaths," i.e., a volley of abuse. 



382 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

thus ousted from the throne, and a rugged tarpaulin ^ dictating 
from his elbowchair, hectoring the patriarchs, and filUng this tran- 
quil little realm with brawl and bravado. 

The stranger was, on this evening, in a more than usually com- 
municative mood, and was narrating a number of astounding sto- 
ries of plunderings and burnings on the high seas. He dwelt upon 
them with peculiar relish, heightening the frightful particulars 
in proportion to their effect on his peaceful auditors. He gave 
a swaggering detail of the capture of a Spanish merchantman. 
She was lying becalmed during a long summer's day, just off from 
the island which was one of the lurking places of the pirates. 
They had reconnoitered her with their spyglasses from the shore, 
and ascertained her character and force. At night a picked crew 
of daring fellows set off for her in a whaleboat. They approached 
with muffled oars, as she lay rocking idly with the undulations of 
the sea, and her sails flapping against the masts. They were close 
under the stern before the guard on deck was aware of their 
approach. The alarm was given ; the pirates threw hand grenades ^ 
on deck, and sprang up the main chains,^ sword in hand. 

The crew flew to arms, but in great confusion ; some were shot 
down, others took refuge in the tops, others were driven over- 
board and drowned, while others fought hand to hand from the 
main deck to the quarter-deck, disputing gallantly every inch of 
ground. There were three Spanish gentlemen on board, with their 
ladies, who made the most desperate resistance. They defended 
the companion way,'*^ cut down several of their assailants, and 
fought like very devils, for they were maddened by the shrieks 
of the ladies from the cabin. One of the dons was old, and 



1 A kind of canvas used about a ship ; hence, a sailor. 

2 " Hand grenades," i.e., small shells of iron or glass filled with gunpowder 
and thrown by hand. 

3 ' ' Main chains, " i, e. , strong bars of iron bolted at the lower end to the side 
of a vessel, and secured at the upper end to the iron straps of the blocks by 
which the shrouds supporting the masts are extended. 

1 The companion way is a staircase leading to the cabin of a ship. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. Z^2> 

soon dispatched. The other two kept their ground vigorously, 
even though the captain of the pirates was among their assailants. 
Just then there was a shout of victory from the main deck. " The 
ship is ours ! " cried the pirates. 

One of the dons immediately dropped his sword and surren- 
dered ; the other, who was a hot-headed youngster, and just mar- 
ried, gave the captain a slash in the face that laid all open. The 
captain just made out to articulate the words, " No quarter." 

"And what did they do with their prisoners?" said Peechy 
Prauw eagerly. 

" Threw them all overboard," was the answer. A dead pause 
followed the reply. Peechy Prauw sank quietly back, like a man 
who had unwarily stolen upon the lair of a sleeping lion. The hon- 
est burghers cast fearful glances at the deep scar slashed across 
the visage of the stranger, and moved their chairs a little farther 
off. The seaman, however, smoked on without moving a muscle, 
as though he either did not perceive, or did not regard, the unfavor- 
able effect he had produced upon his hearers. 

The half -pay officer was the first to break the silence, for he was 
continually tempted to make ineffectual head against this tyrant 
of the seas, and to regain his lost consequence in the eyes of his 
ancient companions. He now tried to match the gunpowder tales 
of the stranger by others equally tremendous. Kidd, as usual, 
was his hero, concerning whom he seemed to have picked up many 
of the floating traditions of the province. The seaman had always 
evinced a settled 2:)ique against the one-eyed warrior. On this 
occasion he listened with peculiar impatience. He sat with one 
arm akimbo, the other elbow on the table, the hand holding on to 
the small pipe he was pettishly puffing, his legs crossed, drumming 
with one foot on the ground, and casting every now and then 
the side glance of a basilisk at the prosing captain. At length 
the latter spoke of Kidd's having ascended the Hudson with some 
of his crew, to. land his plunder in secrecy. 

" Kidd up the Hudson ! " burst forth the seaman, with a tre- 
mendous oath ; " Kidd never was up the Hudson ! " 



384 WASHINGTON IRVIXG. 

" I tell you he was," said the other. " Ay, and they say he 
buried a quantity of treasure on the httle flat that runs out into 
the river, called the Devil's Dans Kammer." ^ 

" The Devil's Dans Kammer in your teeth ! " - cried the seaman. 
'' I tell you Kidd never was up the Hudson. What a plague do 
you know of Kidd and his haunts? " 

"What do I know? " echoed the half-pay officer. "Why, I 
was in London at the time of his trial ; a}--, and I had the pleas- 
ure of seeing him hanged at Execution Dock." 

" Then, sir, let me tell you that you saw as pretty a fellow 
hanged as ever trod shoe leather. Ay ! " putting his face nearer 
to that of the officer, " and there was many a landlubber ^ looked 
on that might much better have swung in his stead." 

The half -pay officer was silenced ; but the indignation thus pent 
up in his bosom glowed with intense vehemence in his single eye, 
which kindled like a coal. 

Peechy Prauw, who never could remain silent, observed that 
the gentleman certainly was in the right. Kidd never did bury 
money up the Hudson, nor indeed in any of those parts, though 
many affirmed such to be the fact. It was Bradish ■* and others 
of the buccaneers who had buried money, some said in Turtle 
Bay, 5 others on Long Island, others in the neighborhood of Hell 
Gate. " Indeed," added he, " I recollect an adventure of Sam, 
the negro fisherman, many years ago, which some think had some- 

1 A huge, flat rock, projecting into the Hudson River above the High- 
lands. 

2 " In your teeth," a phrase to denote direct opposition or defiance. 

3 A term of contempt used by seamen for those who pass their lives on land. 
* Bradish was a pirate whose actions were blended in the popular mind 

with those of Kidd. He was boatswain of a ship which sailed from England 
in 1697, and which, like Kidd's, bore the name of the Adventure. In the 
absence of the captain on shore, he seized the ship and set out on a piratical 
cruise. After amassing a fortune, he sailed for America and deposited a 
large amount of his wealth with a confederate on Long Island. He was ap- 
prehended in Rhode Island, sent to England, and executed. 

5 A small cove in the East River two miles north of Corlear's Hook. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 385 

thing to do with the buccaneers. As we are all friends here, and 
as it will go no further, I'll tell it to you. 

" Upon a dark night many years ago, as Black Sam was return- 
ing from fishing in Hell Gate" — 

Here the story was nipped in the bud by a sudden movement 
from the unknown, who, laying his iron fist on the table, knuckles 
downward, with a quiet force that indented the very boards, and 
looking grimly over his shoulder, with the grin of an angry bear, 
— " Hearkee, neighbor," said he, with significant nodding of the 
head, " you'd better let the buccaneers and their money alone ; 
they're not for old men and old women to meddle with. They 
fought hard for their money — they gave body and soul for it; 
and wherever it lies buried, depend upon it he must have a tug 
with the devil who gets it ! " 

This sudden explosion was succeeded by a blank silence through- 
out the room. Peechy Prauw shrunk within himself, and even 
the one-eyed officer turned pale. Wolfert, who from a dark cor- 
ner of the room had listened with intense eagerness to all this talk 
about buried treasure, looked with mingled awe and reverence 
at this bold buccaneer, for such he really suspected him to be. 
There was a chinking of gold and a sparkling of jewels in all his 
stories about the Spanish Main that gave a value to every period, 
and Wolfert would have given anything for the rummaging of 
the ponderous sea chest, which his imagination crammed full of 
golden chalices, crucifixes, and jolly round bags of doubloons. 

The dead stillness that had fallen upon the company was at 
length interrupted by the stranger, who pulled out a prodigious 
watch of curious and ancient workmanship, and which in Wol- 
fert's eyes had a decidedly Spanish look. On touching a spring, 
it struck ten o'clock, upon which the sailor called for his reckon- 
ing, and having paid it out of a handful of outlandish coin, he 
drank off the remainder, of his beverage, and without taking leave 
of any one, rolled out of the room, muttering to himself as he 
stamped upstairs to his chamber. 

It was some time before the company could recover from the 

25 



386 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

silence into which they had been thrown. The very footsteps of 
the stranger, which were heard now and then as he traversed his 
chamber, inspired awe. 

Still the conversation in which they had been engaged was too 
interesting not to be resumed. A heavy thunder gust had gath- 
ered up unnoticed while they were lost in talk, and the torrents 
of rain that fell forbade all thoughts of setting off for home until 
the storm should subside. They drew nearer together, therefore, 
and entreated the worthy Peechy Prauw to continue the tale 
which had been so discourteously interrupted. He readily com- 
plied, whispering, however, in a tone scarcely above his breath, 
and drowned occasionally by the roUing of the thunder ; and he 
would pause every now and then and Hsten, with evident awe, as 
he heard the heavy footsteps of the stranger pacing overhead. 
The following is the purport of his story. 



ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK FISHERMAN. 

EVERYBODY knows Black Sam, the old negro fisherman, 
or, as he is commonly called, "Mud Sam," who has fished 
about the Sound for the last half century. It is now many years 
since Sam, who was then as active a young negro as any in the 
province, and worked on the farm of Killian Suydam on Long 
Island, having finished his day's work at an early hour, was fish- 
ing, one still summer evening, just about the neighborhood of 
Hell Gate. 

He was in a light skiff, and being well acquainted with the cur- 
rents and eddies, had shifted his station, according to the shift- 
ing of the tide, from the Hen and Chickens to the Hog's Back, 
from the Hog's Back to the Pot, and from the Pot to the Frying 
Pan ; i but in the eagerness of his sport he did not see that the 
tide was rapidly ebbing, until tlie roaring of the whirlpools and 

1 See Note 2, p. 336. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 387 

eddies warned him of his danger, and he had some difficulty in 
shooting his skiff from among the rocks and breakers, and get- 
ting to the point of Blackwell's Island. ^ Here he cast anchor 
for some time, waiting the turn of the tide to enable him to return 
homewards. As the night set in, it grew blustering and gusty. 
Dark clouds came bundling up in the west, and now and then 
a growl of thunder or a flash of lightning told that a summer 
storm was at hand. Sam pulled over, therefore, under the lee 
of Manhattan Island, and, coasting along, came to a snug nook, 
just under a steep, beetling rock, where he fastened his skiff to 
the root of a tree that shot out from a cleft, and spread its broad 
branches like a canopy over the water. The gust came scouring 
along, the wind threw up the river in white surges, the rain rat- 
tled among the leaves, the thunder bellowed worse than that 
which is now bellowing, the lightning seemed to lick up the 
surges of the stream ; but Sam, snugly sheltered under rock and 
tree, lay crouching in his skiff, rocking upon the billows until he 
fell asleep. 

When he woke all was quiet. The gust had passed away, and 
only now and then a faint gleam of lightning in the east showed 
which way it had gone. The night was dark and moonless, and 
from the state of the tide Sam concluded it was near midnight. 
He was on the point of making loose his skiff to return home- 
wards when he saw a Hght gleaming along the water from a dis- 
tance, which seemed rapidly approaching. As it drew near he 
perceived it came from a lantern in the bow of a boat gliding 
along under shadow of the land. It pulled up in a small cove close 
to where he was. A man jumped on shore, and searching about 
with the lantern, exclaimed, "This is the place — here's the iron 
ring." The boat was then made fast, and the man, returning on 
board, assisted his comrades in conveying something heavy on 
shore. As the light gleamed among them, Sam saw that they 
were five stout, desperate-looking fellows, in red woolen caps, 

1 A long, narrow island in the East River, between New York and Long 
Island City. 



388 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

with a leader in a three-cornered hat, and that some of them 
were armed with dirks, or long knives, and pistols. They talked 
low to one another, and occasionally in some outlandish tongue 
which he could not understand. 

On landing they made their way among the bushes, taking turns 
to reheve each other in lugging their burden up the rocky bank. 
Sam's curiosity was now fully aroused, so leaving his skiff he clam- 
bered silently up a ridge that overlooked their path. They had 
stopped to rest for a moment, and the leader was looking about 
among the bushes with his lantern. " Have you brought the 
spades ?" said one. "They are here," replied another, who had 
them on his shoulder. " We must dig deep, where there will be 
no risk of discovery," said a third. 

A cold chill ran through Sam's veins. He fancied he saw be- 
fore him a gang of murderers, about to bury their victim. His 
knees smote together. In his agitation he shook the branch of 
a tree with which he was supporting himself as he looked over 
the edge of the cliff. 

" What's that ? " cried one of the gang. " Some one stirs 
among the bushes ! " 

The lantern was held up in the direction of the noise. One 
of the red-caps cocked a pistol, and pointed it towards the very 
place where Sam was standing. He stood motionless, breath- 
less, expecting the next moment to be his last. Fortunately his 
dingy complexion was in his favor, and made no glare among the 
leaves. 

" 'Tis no one," said the man with the lantern. " What a plague ! 
you would not fire off your pistol and alarm the country ! " 

The pistol was uncocked, the burden was resumed, and the 
party slowly toiled along the bank. Sam watched them as they 
went, the light sending back fitful gleams through the dripping 
bushes, and it was not till they were fairly out of sight that he 
ventured to draw breath freely. He now thought of getting 
back to his boat, and making his escape out of the reach of such 
dangerous neighbors ; but curiosity was all-powerful. He hesi- 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 3^9 

tated, and lingered, and listened. By and by he heard the strokes 
of spades. " They are digging the grave ! " said he to himself, 
and the cold sweat started upon his forehead. Every stroke of 
a spade, as it sounded through the silent groves, went to his 
heart. It was evident there was as little noise made as possible ; 
everything had an air of terrible mystery and secrecy. Sam had 
a great rehsh for the horrible ; a tale of murder was a treat for 
him, and he was a constant attendant at executions. He could 
not resist an impulse, in spite of every danger, to steal nearer to 
the scene of mystery, and overlook the midnight fellows at their 
work. He crawled along cautiously, therefore, inch by inch, 
stepping with the utmost care among the dry leaves, lest their 
rustling should betray him. He came at length to where a steep 
rock intervened between him and the gang, for he saw the light 
of their lantern shining up against the branches of the trees on 
the other side. Sam slowly and silently clambered up the surface 
of the rock, and raising his head above its naked edge, beheld 
the villains immediately below him, and so near that though he 
dreaded discovery he dared not withdraw lest the least movement 
should be heard. In this way he remained, with his round black 
face peering above the edge of the rock, like the sun just emerg- 
ing above the edge of the horizon, or the round-cheeked moon 
on the dial of a clock. 

The red-caps had nearly finished their work, the grave was 
filled up, and they were carefully replacing the turf. This done 
they scattered dry leaves over the place. " And now," said the 
leader, '* I defy the devil himself to find it out." 

"The murderers !" exclaimed Sam involuntarily. 

The whole gang started, and looking up beheld the round black 
head of Sam just above them, his white eyes strained half out 
of their orbits, his white teeth chattering, and his whole visage 
shining with cold perspiration. 

" We're discovered ! " cried one. 

** Down with him ! " cried another. 

Sam heard the cocking of a pistol, but did not pause for the 



390 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

report. He scrambled over rock and stone, through brush and 
brier, rolled down banks like a hedgehog, scrambled up others 
like a catamount. In every direction he heard some one or other 
of the gang hemming him in. At length he reached the rocky- 
ridge along the river ; one of the red-caps was hard behind him. 
A steep rock like a wall rose directly in his way; it seemed to cut 
off all retreat, when fortunately he espied the strong, cord-like 
branch of a grapevine reaching half way down it. He sprang 
at it with the force of a desperate man, seized it with both hands, 
and, being young and agile, succeeded in swinging himself to 
the summit of the cliff. Here he stood in full rehef against the 
sky, when the red-cap cocked his pistol and fired. The ball 
whistled by Sam's head. With the lucky thought of a man in an 
emergency, he uttered a yell, fell to the ground, and detached 
at the same time a fragment of the rock, which tumbled with a 
loud splash into the river. 

" I've done his business," said the red-cap to one or two of 
his comrades as they arrived panting. *' He'll tell no tales, ex- 
cept to the fishes in the river." 

His pursuers now turned to meet their companions. Sam, 
sliding silently down the surface of the rock, let himself quietly 
into his skiff, cast loose the fastening, and abandoned himself to 
the rapid current, which in that place runs like a mill stream, and 
soon swept him off from the neighborhood. It was not, how- 
ever, until he had drifted a great distance that he ventured to ply 
his oars, when he made his skiff dart like an arrow through the 
strait of Hell Gate, never heeding the danger of Pot, Frying Pan, 
nor Hog's Back itself, nor did he feel himself thoroughly secure 
until safely nesded in bed in the cockloft of the ancient farm- 
house of the Suydams. 

Here the worthy Peechy Prauw paused to take breath, and to 
take a sip of the gossip tankard that stood at his elbow. His audi- 
tors remained with open mouths and outstretched necks, gaping 
like a nest of swallows for an additional mouthful. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 39 1 

" And is that all ? " exclaimed the half-pay officer. 

" That's all that belongs to the story," said Peechy Prauw. 

** And did Sam never find out what was buried by the red- 
caps ? " said Wolfert eagerly, whose mind was haunted by noth- 
ing but ingots and doubloons. 

" Not that I know of," said Peechy ; " he had no time to spare 
from his work, and, to tell the truth, he did not like to run the 
risk of another race among the rocks. Besides, how should he 
recollect the spot where the grave had been digged ? everything 
would look so different by daylight. And then, where was the 
use of looking for a dead body when there was no chance of 
hanging the murderers ? " 

" Ay, but are you sure it was a dead body they buried ? " said 
Wolfert. 

" To be sure," cried Peechy Prauw exultingly. " Does it not 
haunt in the neighborhood to this very day ? " 

*' Haunts ! " exclaimed several of the party, opening their eyes 
still wider, and edging their chairs still closer. 

" Ay, haunts," repeated Peechy ; " have none of you heard of 
Father Red-cap, who haunts the old burned farmhouse in the 
woods, on the border of the Sound, near Hell Gate ? " 

" Oh, to be sure, I've heard tell of something of the kind, but 
then I took it for some old wives' fable." 

" Old wives* fable or not," said Peechy Prauw, " that farm- 
house stands hard by the very spot. It's been unoccupied time 
out of mind, and stands in a lonely part of the coast, but those 
who fish in the neighborhood have often heard strange noises 
there, and lights have been seen about the wood at night, and 
an old fellow in a red cap has been seen at the windows more 
than once, which people take to be the ghost of the body buried 
there. Once upon a time three soldiers took shelter in the build- 
ing for the night, and rummaged it from top to bottom, when they 
found old Father Red-cap astride of a cider barrel in the cellar, 
with a jug in one hand and a goblet in the other. He offered 
them a drink out of his goblet, but just as one of the soldiers 



392 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

was putting it to his mouth — whew! — a flash of fire blazed 
through the cellar, bhnded every mother's son of them for sev- 
eral minutes, and when they recovered their eyesight, jug, goblet, 
and Red-cap had vanished, and nothing but the empty cider 
barrel remained." 

Here the half-pay officer, who was growing very muzzy and 
sleepy, and nodding over his liquor, with half extinguished eye, 
suddenly gleamed up like an expiring rushlight. 

"That's all fudge ! " said he, as Peechy finished his last story. 

" Well, I don't vouch for the truth of it myself," said Peechy 
Prauw, "though all the world knows that there's something 
strange about that house and grounds ; but as to the story of 
Mud Sam, I beheve it just as well as if it had happened to my- 
self." 

The deep interest taken in this conversation by the company 
had made them unconscious of the uproar abroad among the ele- 
ments, when suddenly they were electrified by a tremendous clap 
of thunder. A lumbering crash followed instantaneously, shak- 
ing the building to its very foundation. All started from their 
seats, imagining it the shock of an earthquake, or that old Father 
Red-cap was coming among them in all his terrors. They lis- 
tened for a moment, but only heard the rain pelting against the 
windows and the wind howling among the trees. The explosion 
was soon explained by the apparition of an old negro's bald head 
thrust in at the door, his white goggle eyes contrasting with his 
jetty poll, which was wet with rain, and shone like a bottle. In 
a jargon but half intelligible he announced that the kitchen chim- 
ney had been struck with hghtning. 

A sullen pause of the storm, which now rose and sank in gusts, 
produced a momentary stillness. In this interval the report of a 
musket was heard, and a long shout, almost like a yell, resounded 
from the shores. Every one crowded to the window ; another 
musket shot was heard, and another long shout, mingled wildly 
with a rising blast of wind. It seemed as if the cry came up from 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 393 

the bosom of the waters, for though incessant flashes of Hghtning 
spread a hght about the shore, no one was to be seen. 

Suddenly the window of the room overhead was opened, and 
a loud halloo uttered by the mysterious stranger. Several hail- 
ings passed from one party to the other, but in a language which 
none of the company in the barroom could understand, and pres- 
ently they heard the window closed, and a great noise overhead, 
as if all the furniture were pulled and hauled about the room. 
The negro servant was summoned, and shortly afterwards was 
seen assisting the veteran to lug the ponderous sea chest down- 
stairs. 

The landlord was in amazement. *' What, you are not going 
on the water in such a storm ? " 

" Storm ! " said the other scornfully, " do you call such a sput- 
ter of weather a storm ? " 

"You'll get drenched to the skin; you'll catch your death !" 
said Peechy Prauw affectionately. 

" Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the veteran ; " don't 
preach about weather to a man that has cruised in whirlwinds 
and tornadoes." 

The obsequious Peechy was again struck dumb. The voice 
from the water was heard once more in a tone of impatience ; 
the bystanders stared with redoubled awe at this man of storms, 
who seemed to have come up out of the deep, and to be summoned 
back to it again. As, with the assistance of the negro, he slowly 
bore his ponderous sea chest towards the shore, they eyed it with 
a superstitious feeling, half doubting whether he were not really 
about to embark upon it and launch forth upon the wild waves. 
They followed him at a distance with a lantern. 

" Dowse 1 the light ! " roared the hoarse voice from the water. 
" No one wants light here ! " 

" Thunder and lightning ! " exclaimed the veteran, turning 
short upon them ; " back to the house with you ! " 

Wolfert and his companions shrank back in dismay. Still their 

3 Extincruish. 



394 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

curiosity would not allow them entirely to withdraw. A long 
sheet of lightning now flickered across the waves, and discovered 
a boat, filled with men, just under a rocky point, rising and sink- 
ing with the heaving surges, and swashing the waters at every 
heave. It was with difficulty held to the rocks by a boat hook, 
for the current rushed furiously round the point. The veteran 
hoisted one end of the lumbering sea chest on the gunwale of the 
boat, and seized the handle at the other end to hft it in, when the 
motion propelled the boat from the shore, the chest slipped off 
from the gunwale, and, sinking into the waves, pulled the veter- 
an headlong after it. A loud shriek was uttered by all on shore, 
and a volley of execrations by those on board, but boat and man 
were hurried away by the rushing swiftness of the tide. A pitchy 
darkness succeeded. Wolfert Webber, indeed, fancied that he 
distinguished a cry for help, and that he beheld the drowning 
man beckoning for assistance ; but when the lightning again 
gleamed along the water all was void ; neither man nor boat was 
to be seen, — nothing but the dashing and weltering of the waves 
as they hurried past. 

The company returned to the tavern to await the subsiding of 
the storm. They resumed their seats and gazed on each other 
with dismay. The w^hole transaction had not occupied five min- 
utes, and not a dozen words had been spoken. When they looked 
at the oaken chair they could scarcely realize the fact that the 
strange being who had so lately tenanted it, full of life and Her- 
culean vigor, should already be a corpse. There was the very 
glass he had just drunk from ; there lay the ashes from the pipe 
which he had smoked, as it were, with his last breath. As the 
worthy burghers pondered on these things, they felt a terrible 
conviction of the uncertainty of existence, and each felt as if the 
ground on which he stood was rendered less stable by his awful 
example. 

As, however, the most of the company were possessed of that 
valuable philosophy which enables a man to bear up with forti- 
tude against the misfortunes of his neighbors, they soon managed 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 395 

to console themselves for the tragic end of the veteran. The land- 
lord was particularly happy that the poor dear man had paid his 
reckoning before he went, and made a kind of farewell speech on 
the occasion. 

"He came," said he, "in a storm, and he went in a storm; 
he came in the night, and he went in the night ; he came nobody 
knows whence, and he has gone nobody knows where. For aught 
I know he has gone to sea once more on his chest, and may land 
to bother some people on the other side of the world ; though it's 
a thousand pities," added he, " if he has gone to Davy Jones's i 
locker, that he had not left his own locker - behind him." 

" His locker ! St. Nicholas preserve us ! " cried Peechy Prauw. 
" rd not have had that sea chest in the house for any money ; 
I'll warrant he'd come racketing after it at nights, and making 
a haunted house of the inn. And as to his going to sea in his 
chest, I recollect what happened to Skipper Onderdonk's ship on 
his voyage from Amsterdam. 

" The boatswain died during a storm, so they wrapped him up 
in a sheet, and put him in his own sea chest, and threw him over- 
board ; but they neglected, in their hurry-skurry, to say prayers 
over him, and the storm raged and roared louder than ever, and 
they saw the dead man seated in his chest, with his shroud for a 
sail, coming hard after the ship, and the sea breaking before him 
in great sprays like fire ; and there they kept scudding day after 
day and night after night, expecting every moment to go to 
^vreck ; and every night they saw the dead boatswain in his sea 
chest trying to get up with them, and they heard his whistle above 
the blasts of wind, and he seemed to send great seas, mountain 
high, after them that would have swamped the ship if they had 
not put up the deadlights. And so it went on till they lost sight 
of him in the fogs off Newfoundland, and supposed he had 

1 Davy Jones is the spirit of the sea, or the sea devil, and Davy Jones's 
locker is the bottom of the ocean; hence, " gone to Davy Jones's locker" 
signifies " dead and buried in the sea." 

2 Chest. 



396 WASHIXGTOX IRVIXG. 

veered ship and stood for Dead Man's Isle J So much for bury- 
ing a man at sea without saying prayers over him." 

The thunder gust which had hitherto detained the company 
was now at an end. The cuckoo clock in the hall told mid- 
night ; ever}' one pressed to depart, for seldom was such a late 
hour of the night trespassed on by these quiet burghers. As they 
saUied forth they found the hea\ens once more serene. The 
storm which had lately obscured them had rolled away, and lay 
piled up in fleecy masses on the horizon, lighted up by the bright 
crescent of the moon, which looked like a httle silver lamp hung 
up in a palace of clouds. 

The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dismal narrations 
they had made, had left a superstitious feeling in every mind. 
They cast a fearful glance ar the spot where the buccaneer had 
disappeared, almost expecting to see him saihng on his chest in 
the cool moonshine. The trembling rays glittered along the 
waters, but all was placid, and the current dimpled over the spot 
where he had gone down. The party huddled together in a little 
crowd as they repaired homewards, particularly when they passed 
a lonely field where a man had been murdered, and even the sex- 
ton, who had to complete his journey alone, though accustomed, 
one would think, to ghosts and goblins, went a long way round 
rather than pass by his own churchyard. 

Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh stock of stories 
and notions to ruminate upon. These accounts of pots of money 
and Spanish treasiues, buried here and there and everywhere 
about the rocks and bays of these wild shores, made him almost 
dizzy. " Blessed St. Nicholas ! " ejaculated he, half aloud, " is 
it not possible to come upon one of these golden hoards, and to 
make one's self rich in a twinkling } How hard that I must go 
on, delving and delving, day in and day out, merely to make a 
morsel of bread, when one lucky stroke of a spade might enable 
me to ride in my carriage for the rest of my life ! " 

1 Probably Deadman's Point, a small island near Deadman's Bay, off the 
eastern coast of Newfoundland. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 397 

As he turned over in his thoughts all that had been told of the 
singular adventure of the negro fisherman, his imagination gave 
a totally different complexion ^ to the tale. He saw in the gang 
of red-caps nothing but a crew of pirates burying their spoils, 
and his cupidity was once more awakened by the possibility of 
at length getting on the traces of some of this lurking wealth. 
Indeed, his infected fancy tinged everything with gold. He felt 
like the greedy inhabitant of Bagdad when his eyes had been 
greased with the magic ointment of the dervish, that gave him 
to see all the treasures of the earth. 2 Caskets of buried jewels, 
chests of ingots, and barrels of outlandish coins seemed to court 
him from their concealments, and supplicate him to relieve them 
from their untimely graves. 

On making private inquiries about the grounds said to be 
haunted by Father Red-cap, he was more and more confirmed in 
his surmise. He learned that the place had several times been 
visited by experienced money diggers who had heard Black Sam's 
story, though none of them had met with success. On the con- 
trary, they had always been dogged with ill luck of some kind 
or other, in consequence, as Wolfert concluded, of not going to 
work at the proper time and with the proper ceremonials. The 
last attempt had been made by Cobus Quackenbos, who dug for 
a whole night, and met with incredible difficulty, for as fast as 
he threw one shovelful of earth out of the hole, two were thrown 
in by invisible hands. He succeeded so far, however, as to un- 
cover an iron chest, when there was a terrible roaring, ramping, 
and raging of uncouth figures about the hole, and at length a 

1 Aspect. 

2 See Story of the Blind Man, Baba Abdalla, in Arabian Nights' Enter- 
tainment. An inhabitant of Bagdad, Asiatic Turkey, meets with a dervish, 
or Turkish monk, who presents him with a vast treasure and with a box of 
magic ointment, which, applied to the left eye, enables one to see the treasures 
in the bosom of the earth, but on touching the right eye, causes blindness. 
Having applied it to the left eye with the result predicted, he uses it on his 
right eye, in the hope that still greater treasures may be revealed, and imme- 
diately becomes blind. 



39^ WASHINGTON IRVING. 

shower of blows, dealt by invisible cudgels, fairly belabored him off 
of the forbidden ground. This Cobus Quackenbos had declared 
on his deathbed, so that there could not be any doubt of it. He 
was a man that had devoted many years of his life to money dig- 
ging, and it was thought would have ultimately succeeded had he 
not died recently of a brain fever in the almshouse. 

Wolfert "Webber was now in a worn* of trepidation and impa- 
tience, fearful lest some rival adventurer should get a scent of 
the buried gold. He determined privately to seek out the black 
fisherman, and get him to ser^-e as guide to the place where 
he had witnessed the mysterious scene of interment. Sam was 
easily found, for he was one of those old habitual beings that 
live about a neighborhood until they wear themselves a place in 
the pubhc mind, and become, in a manner, pubhc characters. 
There was not an unlucky urchin about town that did not know 
Sam the fisherman, and think that he had a right to play his 
tricks upon the old negro. Sam had led an amphibious hfe for 
more than half a centun-, about the shores of the bay and the 
fishing grounds of the Sound. He passed the greater part of his 
time on and in the water, particularly about Hell Gate, and might 
have been taken, in bad weather, for one of the hobgobhns that 
used to haunt that strait. There would he be seen, at all times 
and in all weathers, sometimes in his skiff, anchored among the 
eddies, or prowling hke a shark about some wreck, where the fish 
are supposed to be most abundant ; sometimes seated on a rock 
from hour to hour, looking, in the mist and drizzle, like a sohtary 
heron watching for its prey. He was well acquainted with even,- 
hole and comer of the Sound, from the Wallabout ^ to Hell Gate, 
and from Hell Gate unto the Devil's Stepping-Stones; 2 and it was 
even affirmed that he knew all the fish in the river by their Chris- 
tian names. 

Wolfert found him at his cabin, which was not much larger 
than a tolerable dog house. It was rudely constructed of frag- 

1 A bay of the East River, on which the Brooklyn Navy Yard is situated. 

2 See Note i, p. 338. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 399 

merits of wrecks and driftwood, and built on the rocky shore at 
the foot of the old fort, just about what at present forms the 
point of the Battery.^ A " very ancient and fish-like smell " 2 per- 
vaded the place. Oars, paddles, and fishing rods were leaning 
against the wall of the fort, a net was spread on the sand to dry, 
a skiff was drawn up on the beach, and at the door of his cabin 
was Mud Sam himself, indulging in the true negro luxury of sleep- 
ing in the sunshine. 

Many years had passed away since the time of Sam's youth- 
ful adventure, and the snows of many a winter had grizzled the 
knotty wool upon his head. He perfectly recollected the cir- 
cumstances, however, for he had often been called upon to relate 
them, though in his version of the story he differed in many 
points from Peechy Prauw, as is not infrequently the case with 
authentic historians. As to the subsequent researches of money 
diggers, Sam knew nothing about them ; they were matters quite 
out of his line ; neither did the cautious Wolfert care to disturb 
his thoughts on that point. His only wish was to secure the old 
fisherman as a pilot to the spot, and this was readily effected. The 
long time that had intervened since his nocturnal adventure had 
effaced all Sam's awe of the place, and the promise of a trifling 
reward roused him at once from his sleep and his sunshine. 

The tide was adverse to making the expedition by water, and 
Wolfert was too impatient to get to the land of promise to wait 
for its turning ; they set off, therefore, by land. A walk of four 
or five miles brought them to the edge of a wood, w^hich at that 
time covered the greater part of the eastern side of the island. 
It was just beyond the pleasant region of Bloomen-dael.^ Here 
they struck into a long lane, straggling among trees and bushes 

1 The southern extremity of New York City. 

2 See Shakespeare's The Tempest, act ii., sc. 2. 

3 At the time this story was written Bloomen-dael (Flowery Valley) was a 
village four miles from New York. It is now that part of New York known 
as Bloomingdale, on the west side, between about Seventieth and One Hun- 
dredth Streets. 



400 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

very much overgrown with weeds and mullein stalks, as if but 
seldom used, and so completely overshadowed as to enjoy but a 
kind of twilight. Wild vines entangled the trees and flaunted in 
their faces ; brambles and briers caught their clothes as they 
passed ; the garter snake glided across their path ; the spotted 
toad hopped and waddled before them ; and the restless catbird 
mewed at them from every thicket. Had Wolfert Webber been 
deeply read in romantic legend he might have fancied himself 
entering upon forbidden, enchanted ground, or that these were 
some of the guardians set to keep watch upon buried treasure. 
As it was, the loneliness of tfie place, and the wild stories con- 
nected with it, had their effect upon his mind. 

On reaching the lower end of the lane they found themselves 
near the shore of the Sound, in a kind of amphitheater surrounded 
by forest trees. The area had once been a grass plot, but was 
now shagged with briers and rank weeds. At one end, and just 
on the river bank, was a ruined building, little better than a heap 
of rubbish, with a stack of chimneys rising like a solitary tower 
out of the center. The current of the Sound rushed along just 
below it, with wildly grown trees drooping their branches into its 
waves. 

Wolfert had not a doubt that this was the haunted house of 
Father Red-cap, and called to mind the story of Peechy Prauw. 
The evening was approaching, and the Hght, falling dubiously 
among the woody places, gave a melancholy tone to the scene 
well calculated to foster any lurking feehng of awe or supersti- 
tion. The night hawk, wheeHng about in the highest regions of 
the air, emitted his peevish, boding cry. The woodpecker gave 
a lonely tap now and then on some hollow tree, and the firebird i 
streamed by them with his deep red plumage. 

They now came to an inclosure that had once been a garden. 
It extended along the foot of a rocky ridge, but was Httle bet- 
ter than a wilderness of weeds, with here and there a matted rose- 
bush, or a peach or plum tree, grown wild and ragged, and cov- 

1 Orchard oriole. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. ^o\ 

ered with moss. At the lower end of the garden they passed a 
kind of vault in the side of a bank, facing the water. It had 
the look of a root house.^ The door, though decayed, was still 
strong, and appeared to have been recently patched up. Wolfert 
pushed it open. It gave a harsh grating upon its hinges, and 
striking against something like a box, a ratthng sound ensued, 
and a skull rolled on the floor. Wolfert drew back shuddering, 
but was reassured on being informed by the negro that this was 
a family vault, belonging to one of the old Dutch families that 
owned this estate, an assertion corroborated by the sight of cof- 
fins of various sizes piled within. Sam had been familiar with 
all these scenes when a boy, and now knew that he could not 
be far from the place of which they were in quest. 

They now made their way to the water's edge, scrambling along 
ledges of rocks that overhung the waves, and obliged often to 
hold by shrubs and grapevines to avoid slipping into the deep 
and hurried stream. At length they came to a small cove, or 
rather indent of the shore. It was protected by steep rocks, and 
overshadowed by a thick copse of oaks and chestnuts, so as to be 
sheltered and almost concealed. The beach shelved gradually 
within the cove, but the current swept deep and black and rapid 
along its jutting points. The negro paused, raised his remnant 
of a hat, and scratched his grizzled poll for a moment, as he re- 
garded this nook ; then suddenly clapping his hands, he stepped 
exultingly forward, and pointed to a large iron ring, stapled firmly 
in the rock, just where a broad shelf of stone furnished a com- 
modious landing place. It was the very spot where the red-caps 
had landed. Years had changed the more perishable features 
of the scene ; but rock and iron yield slowly to the influence of 
time. On looking more closely Wolfert remarked three crosses 
cut in the rock just above the ring, w^iich had no doubt some 
mysterious signification. Old Sam now readily recognized the 
overhanging rock under which his skiff had been sheltered dur- 

1 " Root house," i.e., a house for storing up potatoes, turnips, or other roots 
for the winter feed of cattle. 
26 



402 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

ing the thunder gust. To follow up the course which the mid- 
night gang had taken, however, was a harder task. His mind 
had been so much taken up on that eventful occasion by the 
persons of the drama as to pay but little attention to the scenes, 
and these places looked so difiFerent by night and day. After 
wandering about for some time, however, they came to an open- 
ing among the trees which Sam thought resembled the place. 
There was a ledge of rock of moderate height, like a wall, on one 
side, which he thought might be the very ridge whence he had 
overlooked the diggers. Wolfert examined it narrowly, and at 
length discovered three crosses similar to those on the above ring, 
cut deeply into the face of the rock, but nearly obliterated by moss 
that had grown over them. His heart leaped with joy, for he 
doubted not they were the private marks of the buccaneers. All 
now that remained was to ascertain the precise spot where the 
treasure lay buried, for otherwise he might dig at random in the 
neighborhood of the crosses, without coming upon the spoils, and 
he had already had enough of such profitless labor. Here, how- 
ever, the old negro was perfectly at a loss, and indeed perplexed 
him by a variety of opinions, for his recollections were all con- 
fused. Sometimes he declared it must have been at the foot of a 
mulberry tree hard by ; then beside a great white stone ; then 
under a small green knoll, a short distance from the ledge of rocks, 
until at length Wolfert became as bewildered as himself. 

The shadows of evening were now spreading themselves over 
the woods, and rock and tree began to mingle together. It was 
e\ndently too late to attempt anything further at present, and, in- 
deed, Wolfert had come unprovided with implements to prosecute 
his researches. Satisfied, therefore, with having ascertained the 
place, he took note of all its landmarks, that he might recognize 
it again, and set out on his return homewards, resolved to prose- 
cute this golden enterprise without delay. 

The leading anxiety which had hitherto absorbed every feeling 
being now in some measure appeased, fancy began to wander, 
and to conjure up a thousand shapes and chimeras as he returned 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 403 

through this haunted region. Pirates hanging in chains seemed 
to swing from every tree, and he almost expected to see some 
Spanish don, with his throat cut from ear to ear, rising slowly out 
of the ground, and shaking the ghost of a money bag. 

Their way back lay through the desolate garden, and Wolfert's 
nerves had arrived at so sensitive a state that the flitting of a 
bird, the rustling of a leaf, or the falling of a nut was enough to 
startle him. As they entered the confines of the garden, they 
caught sight of a figure at a distance advancing slowly up one 
of the walks, and bending under the weight of a burden. They 
paused and regarded him attentively. He wore what appeared 
to be a woolen cap, and, still more alarming, of a most sangui- 
nary red. 

The figure moved slowly on, ascended the bank, and stopped 
at the very door of the sepulchral vault. Just before entering it 
he looked around. What was the affright of Wolfert when he 
recognized the grisly visage of the drowned buccaneer! He ut- 
tered an ejaculation of horror. The figure slowly raised his iron 
fist and shook it with a terrible menace. Wolfert did not pause 
to see any more, but hurried off as fast as his legs could carry 
him, nor was Sam slow in following at his heels, having all his 
ancient terrors revived. Away, then, did they scramble through 
bush and brake, horribly frightened at every bramble that tugged 
at their skirts, nor did they pause to breathe until they had blun- 
dered their way through this perilous wood, and fairly reached 
the highroad to the city. 

Several days elapsed before Wolfert could summon courage 
enough to prosecute the enterprise, so much had he been dis- 
mayed by the apparition, whether living or dead, of the grisly 
buccaneer. In the mean time, what a conflict of mind did he 
suffer! He neglected all his concerns, was moody and restless 
all day, lost his appetite, wandered in his thoughts and words, 
and committed a thousand blunders. His rest was broken, and 
when he fell asleep the nightmare, in shape of a huge money bag, 
sat squatted upon his breast. He babbled about incalculable 



404 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

sums, fancied himself engaged in money digging, threw the bed- 
clothes right and left, in the idea that he was shoveling away the 
dirt, groped under the bed in quest of the treasure, and lugged 
forth, as he supposed, an inestimable pot of gold. 

Dame Webber and her daughter were in despair at what they 
conceived a returning touch of insanity. There are two family 
oracles, one or other of which Dutch housewives consult in "all 
cases of great doubt and perplexity, — the dominie and the doc- 
tor. In the present instance they repaired to the doctor. There 
was at that time a little dark, moldy man of medicine, famous 
among the old wives of the Manhattoes for his skill, not only in 
the healing art, but in all matters of strange and mysterious 
nature. His name was Dr. Knipperhausen, but he was more 
commonly known by the appellation of the " High German Doc- 
tor." 1 To him did the poor woman repair for counsel and assist- 
ance touching the mental vagaries of Wolfert Webber. 

They found the doctor seated in his little study, clad in his dark 
camlet ^ robe of knowledge, with his black velvet cap, after the 
manner of Boerhaave,^ Van Helmont,* and other medical sages, 
a pair of green spectacles set in black horn upon his clubbed nose, 
and poring over a German folio that reflected back the darkness 
of his physiognomy. The doctor listened to their statement of 
the symptoms of Wolfert's malady with profound attention, but 
when they came to mention his raving about buried money the 
little man pricked up his ears. Alas, poor women ! they Httle 
knew the aid they had called in. 

Dr. Knipperhausen had been half his life engaged in seeking 
the short cuts to fortune, in quest of which so many a long life- 

1 The same, no doubt, of whom mention is made in the history of Dolph 
Heyliger. 

2 A fabric made of goat's hair and silk, or wool and cotton. 

3 Hermann Boerhaave (1668-1738), a celebrated Dutch physician and 
philosopher. 

4 Jan Baptista Van Helmont (1577-1644), a celebrated Flemish physician 
and chemist. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 405 

time is wasted. He had passed some years of his youth among 
the Harz 1 mountains of Germany, and had derived much valu- 
able instruction from the miners touching the mode of seeking 
treasure buried in the earth. He had prosecuted his studies, also, 
under a traveling sage who united the mysteries of medicine 
with magic and legerdemain. His mind, therefore, had become 
stored with all kinds of mystic lore ; he had dabbled a little in 
astrology, alchemy, divination ;2 knew how to detect stolen money, 
and to tell where springs of water lay hidden ; in a word, by the 
dark nature of his knowledge he had acquired the name of the 
" High German Doctor," which is pretty nearly equivalent to that 
of necromancer. The doctor had often heard rumors of treasure 
being buried in various parts of the island, and had long been 
anxious to get on the traces of it. No sooner were Wolfert's 
waking and sleeping vagaries confided to him than he beheld in 
them the confirmed symptoms of a case of money digging, and 
lost no time in probing it to the bottom. Wolfert had long been 
sorely oppressed in mind by the golden secret, and as a family 
physician is a kind of father confessor, he was glad of any oppor- 
tunity of unburdening himself. So far from curing, the doctor 
caught the malady from his patient. The circumstances unfolded 
to him awakened all his cupidity ; he had not a doubt of money 
being buried somewhere in the neighborhood of the mysterious 
crosses, and offered to join Wolfert in the search. He informed 
him that much secrecy and caution must be observed in enter- 
prises of the kind ; that money is only to be dug for at night, 
with certain forms and ceremonies and burning of drugs, the 

1 A mountain chain in northwestern Germany, between the Elbe and the 
Weser. 

2 Astrology, alchemy, and divination were three imaginary arts. The first 
pretended to judge of the influence of the stars on human affairs, and to fore- 
tell events by their positions and aspects ; the second aimed to transmute the 
baser metals into gold, and to find a universal remedy for diseases ; while the 
third dealt with the discovery of secret or future events by preternatural 
means. 



4o6 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

repeating of mystic words, and, above all, that the seekers must 
first be provided with a divining rod,i which had the wonderful 
property of pointing to the very spot on the surface of the earth 
under which treasure lay hidden. As the doctor had given much 
of his mind to these matters he charged himself with all the 
necessary preparations, and, as the quarter of the moon was pro- 
pitious, he undertook to have the divining rod ready by a certain 
night. 

Wolfert's heart leaped with joy at having met with so learned 
and able a coadjutor. Everything went on secretly but swim- 
mingly. The doctor had many consultations with his patient, and 
the good women of the household lauded the comforting effect 
of his visits. In the mean time the wonderful divining rod, that 
great key to nature's secrets, was duly prepared. The doctor 
had thumbed over all his books of knowledge for the occasion, 
and the black fisherman was engaged to take them in his skiff 
to the scene of enterprise, to work with spade and pickax in un- 
earthing the treasure, and to freight his bark with the weighty 
spoils they were certain of finding. 

At length the appointed night arrived for this perilous under- 
taking. Before Wolfert left his home he counseled his wife and 
daughter to go to bed, and feel no alarm if he should not return 
during the night. Like reasonable women, on being told not to 
feel alarm they fell immediately into a panic. They saw at once 
by his manner that something unusual was in agitation ; all their 
fears about the unsettled state of his mind were revived with ten- 
fold force ; they hung about him, entreating him not to expose 
himself to the night air, but all in vain. When once Wolfert was 
mounted on his hobby ^ it was no easy matter to get him out of 
the saddle. It was a clear, starlight night when he issued out of 

1 A divining rod is a rod used by those who pretend to discover water or 
metals underground. It is commonly made of witch hazel, with forked 
branches. 

2 Hobby, or hobbyhorse, a favorite theme of thought; hence, " to mount 
a hobby" is to follow a favorite pursuit. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 407 

the portal of the Webber palace. He wore a large flapped hat, 
tied under the chin with a handkerchief of his daughter's, to 
secure him from the night damp, while Dame Webber threw her 
long red cloak about his shoulders, and fastened it round his 
neck. 

The doctor had been no less carefully armed and accoutered 
by his housekeeper, the vigilant Frau Ilsy, and sallied forth in 
his camlet robe by way of surcoat,i his black velvet cap under 
his cocked hat, a thick clasped book under his arm, a basket of 
drugs and dried herbs in one hand, and in the other the miracu- 
lous rod of divination. 

The great church clock struck ten as Wolfert and the doctor 
passed by the churchyard, and the watchman bawled in hoarse 
voice a long and doleful " All's well ! " A deep sleep had al- 
ready fallen upon this primitive little burgh ; nothing disturbed 
this awful silence excepting now and then the bark of some 
profligate, night-walking dog, or the serenade of some romantic 
cat. It is true Wolfert fancied more than once that he heard 
the sound of a stealthy footfall at a distance behind them ; but 
it might have been merely the echo of their own steps along the 
quiet streets. He thought also at one time that he saw a tall 
figure skulking after them, stopping when they stopped and mov- 
ing on as they proceeded ; but the dim and uncertain lamplight 
threw such vague gleams and shadows that this might all have 
been mere fancy. 

They found the old fisherman waiting for them, smoking his 
pipe in the stern of the skiff, which was moored just in front of 
his little cabin. A pickax and spade were lying in the bottom 
of the boat, with a dark lantern, and a stone bottle of good 
Dutch courage,^ in which honest Sam no doubt put even more 
faith than Dr. Knipperhausen in his drugs. 

Thus, then, did these three worthies embark in their cockle- 

1 Overcoat. 

2 Dutch courage is courage that results from indulgence in Dutch gin or 
Hollands ; here applied to the gin itself. 



4o8 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

shell of a skiff upon this nocturnal expedition, with a wisdom 
and valor equaled only by the three wise men of Gotham,^ who 
adventured to sea in a bowl. The tide was rising and running 
rapidly up the Sound. The current bore them along, almost 
without the aid of an oar. The profile of the town lay all in 
shadow. Here and there a light feebly glimmered from some 
sick chamber, or from the cabin window of some vessel at anchor 
in the stream. Not a cloud obscured, the deep, starry firmament, 
the lights of which wavered on the surface of the placid river, and 
a shooting meteor, streaking its pale course in the very direction 
they were taking, was interpreted by the doctor into a most pro- 
pitious omen. 

In a little while they glided by the point of Corlear's Hook, 
with the rural inn which had been the scene of such night adven- 
tures. The family had retired to rest, and the house was dark 
and still. Wolfert felt a chill pass over him as they passed the 
point where the buccaneer had disappeared. He pointed it out 
to Dr. Knipperhausen. While regarding it they thought they saw 
a boat actually lurking at the very place ; but the shore cast such a 
shadow over the border of the water that they could discern noth- 
ing distinctly. They had not proceeded far when they heard the 
low sounds of distant oars, as if cautiously pulled. Sam plied 
his oars with redoubled vigor, and knowing all the eddies and 
currents of the stream, soon left their followers, if such they were, 
far astern. In a little while they stretched across Turtle Bay 2 
and Kip's Bay,^ then shrouded themselves in the deep shadows 

1 " Three wise men of Gotham, 
They went to sea in a bowl — 
And if the bowl had been stronger, 
My tale had been longer." 

Mother Goose Melody. 

Gotham was a village proverbial for the blundering simplicity of its in- 
habitants. At first the name referred to an English village. Irving applied 
it to New York City. 

2 See Note 5, p. 384. 

3 A small tay in the East River bel»w Corlear's Hwok. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 409 

of the Manhattan shore, and glided swiftly along, secure from 
observation. At length the negro shot his skiff into a little cove, 
darkly embowered by trees, and made it fast to the well-known 
iron ring. They now landed, and lighting the lantern gathered 
their various implements and proceeded slowly through the 
bushes. Every sound startled them, even that of their own foot- 
steps among the dry leaves, and the hooting of a screech owl, 
from the shattered chimney of the neighboring ruin, made their 
blood run cold. 

In spite of all Wolfert's caution in taking note of the landmarks, 
it was some time before they could find the open place among 
the trees, where the treasure was supposed to be buried. At 
length they came to the ledge of rock, and on examining its 
surface by the aid of the lantern, Wolfert recognized the three 
mystic crosses. Their hearts beat quick, for the momentous trial 
was at hand that was to determine their hopes. 

The lantern was now held by Wolfert Webber, while the doc- 
tor produced the divining rod. It was a forked twig, one end 
of which was grasped firmly in each hand, while the center, 
forming the stem, pointed perpendicularly upwards. The doctor 
moved his wand about, within a certain distance of the earth, 
from place to place, but for some time without any effect, while 
Wolfert kept the light of the lantern turned full upon it, and 
watched it with the most breathless interest. At length the rod 
began slowly to turn. The doctor grasped it with greater earnest- 
ness, his hands trembling with the agitation of his mind. The 
wand continued to tiun gradually, until at length the stem had 
reversed its position, and pointed perpendicularly downward, and 
remained pointing to one spot as fixedly as the needle to the pole. 

" This is the spot ! " said the doctor, in an almost inaudible 
tone. 

Wolfert's heart was in his throat. 

" Shall I dig ? " said the negro, grasping the spade. 

" Pots tausefid,^ no ! " replied the little doctor hastily. He 

1 A German exclamation of anger, equivalent to the English " zounds!" 



41 o WASHINGTON IRVING, 

now ordered his companions to keep close by him, and to main- 
tain the most inflexible silence ; that certain precautions must 
be taken and ceremonies used to prevent the evil spirits which 
kept about buried treasure from doing them any harm. He then 
drew a circle about the place, enough to include the whole party. 
He next gathered dry twigs and leaves and made a fire, upon 
which he threw certain drugs and dried herbs which he had 
brought in his basket. A thick smoke rose, diffusing a potent 
odor savoring marvelously of brimstone and asafetida, which, 
however grateful it might be to the olfactory nerves of spirits, 
nearly strangled poor Wolfert, and produced a fit of coughing 
and wheezing that made the w^hole grove resound. Dr. Knip- 
perhausen then unclasped the volume which he had brought 
under his arm, which was printed in red and black characters in 
German text. While Wolfert held the lantern, the doctor, by 
the aid of his spectacles, read off several forms of conjuration in 
Latin and German. He then ordered Sam to seize the pickax 
and proceed to work. The close-bound soil gave obstinate signs 
of not having been disturbed for many a year. After having 
picked his way through the surface, Sam came to a bed of sand 
and gravel, which he threw briskly to right and left with the 
spade. 

''Hark!" said Wolfert, who fancied he heard a trampHng 
among the dry leaves and a rustling through the bushes. Sam 
paused for a moment, and they hstened. No footstep was near. 
The bat flitted by them in silence ; a bird, roused from its roost 
by the light which glared up among the trees, flew circling about 
the flame. In the profound stillness of the woodland they could 
distinguish the current rippling along the rocky shore, and the 
distant murmuring and roaring of Hell Gate. 

The negro continued his labors, and had already digged a con- 
siderable hole. The doctor stood on the edge, reading formulae 
every now and then from his black-letter volume, or throwing 
more drugs and herbs upon the fire, while Wolfert bent anxiously 
over the pit, watching every stroke of the spade. Any one wit- 






TALES OF A TRAVELER. 411 

nessing the scene thus hghted up by fire, lantern, and the reflec- 
• tion of Wolfert's red mantle, might have mistaken the httle doc- 
tor for some foul magician, busied in his incantations, and the 
grizzly-headed negro for some swart goblin obedient to his com- 
mands. 

At length the spade of the fisherman struck upon something 
that sounded hollow. The sound vibrated to Wolfert's heart. He 
struck his spade again. 

'Tis a chest," said Sam. 

Full of gold, I'll warrant it ! " cried Wolfert, clasping his 
hands with rapture. 

Scarcely had he uttered the words when a sound from above 
caught his ear. He cast up his eyes, and lo ! by the expiring 
light of the fire he beheld, just over the disk of the rock, what 
appeared to be the grim visage of the drowned buccaneer, grin- 
ning hideously down upon him. 

Wolfert gave a loud cry and let fall the lantern. His panic 
communicated itself to his companions. The negro leaped out 
of the hole, the doctor dropped his book and basket, and began 
to pray in German. All was horror and confusion. The fire was 
scattered about, the lantern extinguished. In their hurry-scurry ^ 
they ran against and confounded one another. They fancied 
a legion of hobgoblins let loose upon them, and that they saw, 
by the fitful gleams of the scattered embers, strange figures, in 
red caps, gibbering and ramping around them. The doctor ran 
one way, the negro another, and Wolfert made for the water side. 
As he plunged struggling onwards through brush and brake, he 
heard the tread of some one in pursuit. He scrambled franti- 
cally forward. The footsteps gained upon him. He felt himself 
grasped by his cloak, when suddenl)^ his pursuer was attacked in 
turn; a fierce fight and struggle ensued, a pistol was discharged 
that lit up rock and bush for a second, and showed two figures 
grappling together ; all was then darker than ever. The contest 
continued, the combatants clinched each other, and panted and 

1 A swift, disorderly movement. 



4^2 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

groaned, and rolled among the rocks. There was snarling and 
growling as of a cur, mingled with curses, in which Wolfert fan- 
cied he could recognize the voice of the buccaneer. He would 
fain have fled, but he was on the brink of a precipice, and could 
go no farther. 

Again the parties were on their feet, again there was a tugging 
and struggling, as if strength alone could decide the combat, un- 
til one was precipitated from the brow of the cliff, and sent head- 
long into the deep stream that whirled below. Wolfert heard the 
plunge, and a kind of stranghng, bubbling murmur, but the dark- 
ness of the night hid everything from him, and the swiftness of 
the current swept everything instantly out of hearing. One of 
the combatants was disposed of, but whether friend or foe Wol- 
fert could not tell, nor whether they might not both be foes. He 
heard the survivor approach, and his terror revived. He saw, 
where the profile of the rocks rose against the horizon, a human 
form advancing. He could not be mistaken ; it must be the 
buccaneer. Whither should he fly ? — a precipice was on one side, 
a murderer on the other. The enemy approached — he was close 
at hand. Wolfert attempted to let himself down the face of the 
cliff. His cloak caught in a thorn that grew on the edge. He 
was jerked from off his feet, and held dangling in the air, half 
choked by the string with which his careful wife had fastened the 
garment around his neck. Wolfert thought his last moment was 
arrived ; already had he committed his soul to St. Nicholas, when 
the string broke, and he tumbled down the bank, bumping from 
rock to rock and bush to bush, and leaving the red cloak flut- 
tering like a bloody banner in the air. 

It was a long w^hile before Wolfert came to himself. AVhen 
he opened his eyes, the ruddy streaks of morning were already 
shooting up the sky. He found himself grievously battered, and 
lying in the bottom of a boat. He attempted to sit up, but was 
too sore and stiff to move. A voice requested him in friendly 
accents to He still. He turned his eyes tow^ards the speaker ; it 
was Dirk Waldron. He had dogged the party, at the earnest re- 



TALES OF A TRAVELER, 413 

quest of Dame Webber and her daughter, who, with the laudable 
curiosity of their sex, had pried into the secret consultations of 
Wolfert and the doctor. Dirk had been completely distanced in 
following the light skiff of the fisherman, and had just come in 
time to rescue the poor money digger from his pursuer. 

Thus ended this perilous enterprise. The doctor and Black 
Sam severally found their way back to the Manhattoes, each 
having some dreadful tale of peril to relate. As to poor Wolfert, 
instead of returning in triumph, laden with bags of gold, he was 
borne home on a shutter, followed by a rabble-rout 1 of curious 
urchins. His wife and daughter saw the dismal pageant from a 
distance, and alarmed the neighborhood with their cries ; they 
thought the poor man had suddenly settled the great debt of 
nature in one of his wayward moods. Finding him, however, 
still hving, they had him speedily to bed, and a jury of old ma- 
trons of the neighborhood assembled to determine how he should 
be doctored. The whole town was in a buzz with the story of 
the money diggers. Many repaired to the scene of the previous 
night's adventures ; but though they found the very place of the 
digging, they discovered nothing tliat compensated them for their 
trouble. • Some say they found the fragments of an oaken chest, 
and an iron potlid, which savored strongly of hidden money, 
and that in the old family vault there were traces of bales and 
boxes ; but this is all very dubious. 

In fact, the secret of all this story has never to this day been 
discovered. Whether any treasure were ever actually buried at 
that place ; whether, if so, it were carried off at night by those 
who had buried it ; or whether it still remains there under the 
guardianship of gnomes and spirits until it shall be properly 
sought for, is all matter of conjecture. For my part, I incline 
to the latter opinion, and make no doubt that great sums lie 
buried, both there and in other parts of this island and its neigh- 
borhood, ever since the times of the buccaneers and the Dutch 
colonists; and I would earnestly reconmiend the search after 

1 A noisy throng. 



414 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

them to such of my fellow citizens as are not engaged in any 
other speculations. 

There were many conjectures formed, also, as to who and what 
was the sti-ange man of the seas, who had domineered over the 
little fraternity at Corlear's Hook for a time, disappeared so 
strangely, and reappeared so fearfully. Some supposed him a 
smuggler stationed at that place to assist his comrades in landing 
their goods among the rocky coves of the island. Others, that 
he was one of the ancient comrades of Kidd or Bradish,i returned 
to convey away treasures formerly hidden in the vicinity. The 
only circumstance that throws anything like a vague light on 
this mysterious matter is a report which prevailed of a strange, 
foreign-built shallop, with much the look of a picaroon,^ having 
been seen hovering about the Sound for several days without 
landing or reporting herself, though boats were seen going to 
and from her at night ; and that she was seen standing out of 
the mouth of the harbor, in the gray of the dawn, after the catas- 
trophe of the money diggers. 

I must not omit to mention another report, also, which I con- 
fess is rather apocryphal, of the buccaneer who is supposed to 
have been drowned, being seen before daybreak, with a lantern 
in his hand, seated astride of his great sea chest, and sailing 
through Hell Gate, which just then began to roar and bellow 
with redoubled fury. 

While all the gossip world was thus filled with talk and rumor, 
poor Wolfert lay sick and sorrowfully in his bed, bruised in body 
and sorely beaten down in mind. His wife and daughter did all 
they could to bind up his wounds, both corporal and spiritual. 
The good old dame never stirred from his bedside, where she sat 
knitting from morning till night, while his daughter busied herself 
about him with the fondest care. Xor did they lack assistance 
from abroad. Whatever may be said of the desertion of friends 
in distress, they had no complaint of the kind to make. Not an 
old wife of the neighborhood Init abandoned her work to crowd 

1 See Note 4, p. 3S4. 2 a piratical vessel. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 4^5 

to the mansion of Wolfert Webber, to inquire after his health 
and the particulars of his story. Not one came, moreover, with- 
out her little pipkin of pennyroyal, sage, balm, or other herb tea, 
delighted at an opportunity of signahzing her kindness and her 
doctorship. What drenchings did not the poor Wolfert undergo, 
and all in vain ! It was a moving sight to behold him wasting 
away day by day, growing thinner, and thinner and ghastlier and 
ghastlier, and staring with rueful visage from under an old patch- 
work counterpane, upon the jury of matrons kindly assembled to 
sigh and groan and look unhappy around him. 

Dirk Waldron was the only being that seemed to shed a ray of 
sunshine into this house of mourning. He came in with cheery 
look and manly spirit, and tried to reanimate the expiring heart 
of the poor money digger, but it was all in vain. Wolfert was 
completely done over.i If anything was wanting to complete 
his despair, it was a notice, served upon him in the midst of his 
distress, that the corporation was about to run a new street 
through the very center of his cabbage garden. He now saw 
nothing before him but poverty and ruin ; his last reliance, the 
garden of his forefathers, was to be laid waste, and what then 
was to become of his poor wife and child ? 

His eyes filled with tears as they followed the dutiful Amy out 
of the room one morning. Dirk Waldron was seated beside him ; 
Wolfert grasped his hand, pointed after his daughter, and for the 
first time since his illness broke the silence he had maintained. 

" I am going !" said he, shaking his head feebly, "and when 
I am gone, my poor daughter" — 

" Leave her to me, father ! " said Dirk manfully ; " I'll take 
care of her ! " 

Wolfert looked up in the face of the cheery, strapping young- 
ster, and saw there was none better able to take care of a woman. 

" Enough," said he, '' she is yours ! And now fetch me a 
lawyer — let me make my will and die." 

The lawyer was brought, — a dapper, bustling, roundheaded 

1 Exhausted. 



4i6 WASHINGTON IRVING. 

little man, Roorback (or RoUebuck, as it was pronounced) by 
name. At the sight of him the women broke into loud lamenta- 
tions, for they looked upon the signing of a will as the signing 
of a death warrant. Wolfert made a feeble motion for them to 
be silent. Poor Amy buried her face and her grief in the bed 
curtain. Dame Webber resumed her knitting to hide her dis- 
tress, which betrayed itself, however, in a pellucid tear, which 
trickled silently down, and hung at the end of her peaked nose ; 
while the cat, the only unconcerned member of the family, 
played with the good dame's ball of worsted as it rolled about 
the floor. 

Wolfert lay on his back, his nightcap drawn over his forehead, 
his eyes closed, his whole visage the picture of death. He 
begged the lawyer to be brief, for he felt his end approaching, 
and that he had no time to lose. The lawyer nibbed ^ his pen, 
spread out his paper, and prepared to wTite. 

" I give and bequeath," said Wolfert faintly, " my small 
farm" — 

"What! all? " exclaimed the lawyer. 

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the lawyer. 

" Yes, all," said he. 

"What ! all that great patch of land with cabbages and sun- 
flowers, which the corporation is just going to run a main street 
through ? " 

"The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh, and sinking 
back upon his pillow. 

" I wish him joy that inherits it ! " said the little lawyer, chuck- 
ling and rubbing his hands involuntarily. 

" What do you mean ? " said Wolfert, again opening his eyes. 

"That he'll be one of the richest men in the place," cried lit- 
tle Rollebuck. 

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the threshold 
of existence ; his eyes again lighted up ; he raised himself in his 

1 In Irving's time, quills were made into pens by pointing or " nibbing" 
their ends. 



TALES OF A TRAVELER. 417 

bed, shoved back his red worsted nightcap, and stared broadly 
at the lawyer. 

" You don't say so ! " exclaimed he. 

" Faith but I do ! " rejoined the other. " Why, when that 
great field and that huge meadow come to be laid out in streets 
and cut up into snug building lots, — why, whoever owns it need 
not pull off his hat to the patroon ! " ^ 

" Say you so ? " cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg out of 
bed ; " why, then, I think I'll not make my will yet." 

To the surprise of everybody the dying man actually recovered. 
The vital spark, which had ghmmered faintly in the socket, re- 
ceived fresh fuel from the oil of gladness which the little lawyer 
poured into his soul. It once more burned up into a flame. 

Give physic to the heart, ye who would revive the body of a 
spirit-broken man ! In a few days Wolfert left his room ; in a 
few days more his table was covered with deeds, plans of streets 
and building lots. Little Rollebuck was constantly with him, 
his right hand man and adviser, and instead of making his M^ill 
assisted in the more agreeable task of making his fortune. In 
fact Wolfert Webber was one of those worthy Dutch burghers 
of the Manhattoes whose fortunes have been made, in a manner, 
in spite of themselves ; who have tenaciously held on to their her- 
editary acres, raising turnips and cabbages about the skirts of the 
city, hardly able to make both ends meet, until the corporation 
has cruelly driven streets through their abodes, and they have sud- 
denly awakened out of their lethargy, and, to their astonishment, 
found themselves rich men. 

Before many months had elapsed a great, bustling street passed 
through the very center of the Webber garden, just where Wol- 
fert had dreamed of finding a treasure. Flis golden dream was 
accomplished ; he did, indeed, find an unlooked-for source of 
wealth, for, when his paternal lands were distributed into build- 
ing lots and rented out to safe tenants, instead of producing a 
paltry crop of cabbages they returned him an abundant crop of 

1 See Note 2, p. 375. 
27 



KnocKing ar me aooi irom morning iiii nigni, eacn 
J round-bellied bag of money, a golden produce of the 

ient mansion of his forefathers was still kept up, but, 
being a httle yellow-fronted Dutch house in a garden, 
3d boldly in the midst of a street, the grand home of 
orhood ; for Wolfert enlarged it with a wing on each 
, cupola or tea room on top, where he might climb up 
) his pipe in hot weather, and in the course of time 
mansion was overrun by the chubby-faced progeny of 
)er and Dirk Waldron. 

ert waxed old and rich and corpulent he also set up 
igerbread-colored carriage, drawn by a pair of black 
Lares with tails that swept the ground ; and to commem- 
rigin of his greatness he had for his crest a full-blown 
ainted on the panels, with the pithy motto, ALLES 
It is to say, all head, meaning thereby that he had 
eer head work. 

he measure of his greatness, in the fullness of time 
led Ramm Rapelye slept with his fathers, and Wolfert 
cceeded to the leather-bottomed armchair in the inn 
orlear's Hook ; where he long reigned, greatly honored 
ted, insomuch that he was never known to tell a story 
, being beheved, nor to utter a joke without its being 



I 



By Alexander Bain, LL.D. New Edition. Cloth, 12: 

Part I. Intellectual Elements of Style. 310 p 

Part II. Emotional Qualities of Style. 325 p 

This standard text-book has long been recognized in all Engl 
tries as the best authority and text-book for the study and use c 
guage. It has recently been entirely remodeled and enlarged 
eminent author in order to more perfectly adapt it to the latest 
ing the subject. 

BOYD'S ELEMENTS OF COMPOSITION 
ORIC. By James R. Boyd, D.D 

BARDEEN'S RHETORICS. By C. W. Bardeej 

Complete Rhetoric. 673 pp 

Shorter Course in Rhetoric. 311 pp. 
Outlines of Sentence-Making. 187 pp. 

A complete and thoroughly practical series of books in whicl 
language are developed and taught by examples rather than by 

DAY'S RHETORICAL PRAXIS. By Henry IS 
Cloth, i2mo. 357 pp. 

The principles of Rhetoric exemplified and applied in co 
systematic practice. Designed for use in schools and colleges. 

HEPBURN'S MANUAL OF ENGLISH RHI 

By A. D. Hepburn. Cloth, ismo. 312 pp. 
A compact manual, designed for high school and college clasi 

KERL'S ELEMENTS OF COMPOSITION . 

ORIC. By Simon Kerl, A.M. Cloth, i2mo. 408 p; 

A simple, concise, thorough, and practical work on a new pla 
cupy an intermediate position between common Grammar and h 

QUACKENBOS'S ADVANCED COURSE OF 

TION AND RHETORIC. Cloth, i2mo. 453 p 

A series of practical lessons on the origin, history and peculi 
glish language, punctuation, taste, figures, style, and its essentis 
cism, and the various departments of prose and poetical compos 

WADDY'S ELEMENTS OF COMPOSITION 
ORIC. By Virginia Waddy. Cloth, i2mo. 416 pp. 

This consists of the elements of Composition and Rhetoric, v 
cises in both criticism and construction, sufficiently element; 
grades of high school classes. 

BUTLER'S SCHOOL ENGLISH. By George 

Cloth, i2mo. 272 pp 

A short, comprehensive, and thoroughly practical manual, 
written English work of secondary schools. It is based on the 
ing to do by doing. 

Copies of ajiy of the above described books zvill be sent^ pri 

of price by the pubiishe7's. 



ECLECTIC ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Choice Selections of English Literature for School 
Use — carefully edited and accompanied by ex- 
planatory notes — Uniformly bound in boards. 

Arnold's (Matthew) Sohrab and Rustum $0.20 

De Foe's History of the Plague in London 

Emerson's The American Scholar, Self-Reliance, Com- 
pensation 20 

George Eliot's Silas Marner 30 

Irving's Sketch Book (Ten Selections) , . .20 

Irving's Tales of a Traveler 

Macaulay's Second Essay on Chatham 20 

Macaulay's Essay on Milton 20 

Macaulay's Essay on Addison 

Milton's L'AUegro, II Penseroso, Comus, Lycidas . . .20 

Scott's Ivanhoe 50 

Scott's Marmion 40 

Scott's Lady of the Lake " 30 

Scott's The Abbot 60 

Scott's Woodstock 60 

Shakespeare's Julius Caesar 20 

Shakespeare's Twelfth Night 20 

Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice 20 

Shakespeare's Midsummer-Night's Dream 20 

Sir Roger de Coverley Papers (The Spectator) 20 

Webster's (Daniel) Bunker Hill Orations 

J. H. Gilmore, of the University of Rochester^ Rochester^ N, V.: Some of 
the volumes of the new Series of English Classics for Schools cover works which are 
prescribed reading for students who apply for admission to our college. I shall be 
very glad to recommend them to such students. 

C. F. MacClumpha, of the University of the City of New York: The English 
Classics for Schools certainly show a neatness and form of excellence far in advance of 
their cost. Many of our colleges are beginning to require certain English classics for 
entrance examination and these books will make handy and cheap editions for such use. 

W, H. Appleton, of S^varthmore College^ Swarthinorey Pa.: I am very 
much pleased with them. They are certainly a wonder of cheapness, and at the same 
time are satisfactory in print and in general appearance. I shall make use of them in 
our classes here as far as opportunity offers. 

Copies of any of the Eclectic EnglisJi Classics will be sent^ prepaid^ to any ad- 
dress on receipt of price by the publishers. 

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY, 

NEW YORK ♦ CINCINNATI ♦ CHICAGO 

{'05) 



x^; 



clectic Englit 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



016 117 728 3 



ARNOLD'S SOHRAP. AND K _ 

nE FOE'S HISTORY OF THE Vl.AC\ 

hMERSONS THE AMERICAN SCHOl 
ANCE, COMPENSATE. . 

(.EORGE EUOT*S SILAS MARNER. 

IRVIN H BOOi 

IK 



M:.l< 



Mil ,UN 
'>DISON. 

NSEROSO, 



s(:C)TTS MARMIO:; 

. , ,-r V 1 ^c>Y OF THE LAKE 

ti ABBOT. 
SCOT : ., ^onSTOCK. 

hHAKESPEARL^ ,„„1US C^tSAR. , 

SHAKESPEARE'S TWFhFTH NIGHT 
SHAKESPEARE'S MERCHANT Of . l _ . 
SHAKESPEAR; MMER-MCHT'S DREAM. 

SIR ROGER DE COVERS 
WErfSTER'S BU:- 




AMERIC. 



\ I 



Vork 



:0MPAy^ 



